Look What You Made of Me
by LoveAndStardust19
Summary: The King was always angry in her dreams, a madman trying desperately to catch her. She evaded him like mist, no matter how hard he tried. The heavier the medication, the less she saw of him. The harder he tried to reach her, the more she enjoyed watching him fail in his quest to do so. It had become her favorite game over the years. Dark S/J
1. Chapter 1

**This one has been floating around in my head for a while now, so I thought I'd let it bubble up to the top and see what happens. I'm not sure if I'll make this a full story, or if I'll just have fun with it, as it is my first crack at a suspense genre. Taking a bit of inspiration from a horror story podcast I listen to occasionally. Reviews will dictate whether or not I keep this going, so do let me know what you think!**

 _ **Warning: this story-line may disturb some people, but the people and places are completely fictional.  
**_

* * *

 _ **The Williams household, 1986**_

"Dad, you can't do this, please!" She sobs as the men in white haul her out of the living room, arms pinned between their massive bodies. Her father stands, white as a sheet and painful guilt lining every one of the lines on his face as he watches with glassy eyes as his beautiful and broken daughter is dragged away. Karen lays a supportive hand on his arm and they both watch silently as they let the young girl be taken away, for her own good, of course.

 _Why did you tell them? The nightmares weren't that bad, you should have never told them,_ Sarah sobs to herself as her world falls apart around her, fear overcoming her as she realizes what they've committed her to, and where. They'd tried to get her to go willingly, much to Karen's pressing, but apparently they gave up on waiting for her to make a decision on the matter. They were afraid of her, of her behavior, of her stories. She should have never said a word, kept her demons to herself. There's a sharp pain in her arm and within seconds her body is relaxing and her mind is quieting, yet the panic in her chest is still there, still painful, still crying for help. _Why, why, why…_

* * *

 _ **St. Agnes's Juvenile Psychiatric Treatment Hospital - Privately Owned, 1987**_

"I assure you, Mr. Williams, we are doing the very best we can with her, but she seems to be taking a turn for the worse once again. She hasn't slept in over a week, and she is responding violently to the staff and patients who have intermingled with her as of late. I know we discussed a release this March, but I feel it best that she continue her stay here."

Dr. Jones adjusts his thick glasses as he taps his fingers restlessly on the desk before him. The man on the other line dissipates into despair and guilt over his poor daughter gone mad. Dr. Jones smiles as the man consents to let her stay another six months, just one of many extensions the man will agree to, under Dr. Jones' recommendation. How he enjoys little Sarah, the defiance she has, the way she struggles to remain lucid amidst all the drugs and treatments he has her on. Her father was a poor sap with the financial means to cover whatever the Doctor recommended, and oh, how easily the man caved to the idea of 'fixing' his little princess. Sarah was so wonderfully bright, a ray of sunshine in this sterile place, and so young and angtsy that she made for very good entertainment during their weekly therapy sessions together, while daddy kept the Doctors wallet lined nicely. Why, if she wasn't mad a year ago when she arrived, he was surely going to enjoy getting her there.

"Trust me, Mr. Williams. I do believe we can help your daughter and relieve her of these hallucinations, get her back to a normal life even. The medical world is making strides in the world of the mentally ill. With your permission, I would like to recommend short-term isolation and an increase in her usual medication dosage. Once we get her to rest a bit, I would like to begin the ETC treatment I suggested a few months ago." The man argues, but only briefly. Dr. Jones always succeeds in convincing Mr. Williams of what his little girl needs.

It's not long before the morning has passed and the pretty young girl is sitting across from him once more, her face gaunt with exhaustion, lips permanently scowling these days.

"Sarah," he says her name to get her to look up at him finally, her eyes glued on the table before her. His tone is pleasant enough this morning, and she looks up, bright jade glimmering with a mixture of despair, hate and even still that slither of defiant rage that makes his blood boil. He still needed to break her a bit more, but she was a tough nut to crack, even for him.

"Your father has approved you for another six months under my care." He let's that news settle in, her eyes flicker with something he assumes is utter devastation. "He has also permitted us to move forward with your electro-shock treatments. I think we will see substantial improvements in you after a few weeks of this. Perhaps you'll even stop having these dreams you speak of."

Her eyes flood with fear and he soaks up every second of the mental and emotional collapse she is experiencing right now.

"I'm not crazy, they're just dreams, they're not real, I know this," she whispers desperately.

She's tried relentlessly to forsake any idea that she ever believed in goblins or Labyrinths or evil Kings. She pleads to deaf ears, though. He knew she wasn't crazy after a few weeks with her. But what kind of fool would he have been to give up such a treat amidst this facility, and he was going to enjoy that vacation in the tropics this summer, which he could now afford, thanks to this little gem.

"Now, Sarah. Do you really expect me to believe you're all better so soon? After you attacked your poor bed nurse just last night?" Her eyes light with confusion, her lips parting to deny the accusation. He enjoys how helpless he makes her, how confused and unsure of herself he can make her, because just like before, there was always a nurse willing to take a small bribe under the table for a false statement. "Don't deny what we already know to be true, Sarah," he chastises her with a twitch of his lips. "I'm afraid we're going to have to commit you to solitary confinement once more for this aggressive behavior. What do you think? Perhaps three days this time?" He smiles brightly, his enjoyment all to disturbing for her young mind to understand.

The girl crumbles, devastated once more as he allows her to be dragged away to the hole he loves to lock her in. She is exceptionally complacent after a few days to herself. He looks forward to their next session.

* * *

 _ **Sarah's POV, 1989**_

"Good morning, Sarah."

The good doctor gives her a clinically cool smile as he sits across from her.

"Morning, doc," she says a bit dead toned, but smiling all the same. Dr. Jones doesn't like it when she ignores his pleasantries, and she's learned to play his games through their years together.

"How are you feeling today?" He sets his black coffee on the desk and opens a manilla folder that looks worn and battered, thick with notes and papers. She wonders if he's ever going to switch to a new one or if he likes reminding her of how long she's been here every time they meet.

"Better than yesterday," she continues to smile, her deadened green eyes level with his dull brown ones.

He looks stressed. She's learned his habits during their time together, and his brows are drawn in just a bit, his lips pressed thin between his sentences and hair a bit more tousled than usual. He's attractive, physically. He's slime and decay on the inside. But aesthetically speaking, he works out, he keeps his black hair well groomed, his jawline is tight and he smiles like a man who knows he's got the looks. He's not even as old as her father, maybe late thirties at most, and for some reason that was shocking when she met him. Not at all the least troubling fact she would come to learn though. He's wearing his red button up beneath his labcoat today. He always wears it when he plans on giving her good news. Well, good news for him at least.

"Always good to hear. Are you sleeping? Has your new dosage been helping with the insomnia?"

"Yes, doctor. Been sleeping like a baby," she coos softly, running a strand of hair through her fingers slowly as she watches him write his notes.

He gives her an admonishing look over his spectacles, but she sees his eyes dip slightly to watch her hands play with her hair. He always watches. Maybe he thinks she doesn't notice through the haze of medication. She'd say she was fortunate to get a watcher instead of a doer, but it was skeevy all the same and while he had proven to be perverse in his practice over his patients, it had never dipped that far. Some of her other inmates hadn't been so lucky.

"Do you know what tomorrow is, Sarah?" he asks, folding his hands on the desk in front of him.

"What's that, Doctor Jones?"

He flashes her a smile, he loves when she uses his name. She wants to throw up every time she has to butter him up to get answers.

"It's your birthday, Sarah. You're turning eighteen."

She gives him a light chuckle. "Am I going to get a party? Are you going to bring me a gift, Doctor?"

He shifts uncomfortably. The man abhors a woman with a sharp tongue. Misogynistic to his core.

"Actually, this means that your time here is ending. You'll no longer be a juvenile, after all." He seems annoyed by this fact.

"Lucky, lucky me," she sighs prettily, an air of mockery to tinge her words. He clears his throat in irritation.

"Well, from our end, we believe you have made wonderful progress, Sarah. No longer speaking of Labyrinths and goblins, and you're sleeping again which is wonderful. You really took a turn for the better. With continued therapy and medication you may go on to live a very fulfilling life."

"Ah, doc, you know how bad I want that," she grins, this time there's a cynical twist to the curl of her lips.

He clears his throat and shifts, crossing his arms stiffly. There's nothing more he can do or say to her now though, and they both knew it. She'd been counting down every day, every hour. She had a timer here and they both knew it had run out at last. Even if he wanted to keep her longer, which he had been sure to do in the past, she was no longer young enough to bar from the outside world in this place. She'd just get hauled to another facility for adults, and he'd never see her again regardless. Her track record was clean for the most part. His only hope to keep her on his leash was to release her and stay on as her psychiatrist during her probationary period at home.

"I do wish you the best, Sarah. Your mental health has always been the utmost importance to us here, especially to myself." He smiles tenderly, and she knows a sick part of him believes those words, just not for the reasons a normal doctor would. He loved watching her break, loves that way he cracked her open and left behind jagged corners and a mind so shattered even he struggles to dissect it now.

"Are you gonna miss me, doc? Did I leave an… _impression_?" She curls another strand of hair and doesn't look at him to see his reaction. She knows he's turning a little red with agitation. Maybe he'll electro-shock her one more time just for fun.

"Your father has been informed of your release. He'll be here to pick you up tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be happy to have his little princess back."

Sarah's body goes still, her grin never faltering as she turns back to the doctor. He's grinning like the bastard he is. His wallet was lined with her father's green bills. He'd made it pretty clear early on in their introduction that this was a sick game to him, just to keep that cash influx coming his way. As long as he kept her locked up and silent, her father would never know any better, that there was nothing wrong with her, that every act of violence had only ever been to resist the torture that Dr. Jones put her through. She hadn't had a visitor in three years and Dr. Jones had often taunted her with that fact, and she'd always wondered if he'd somehow managed to keep them away, while he kept her here to toy with.

"Try not to think about me too much when I'm gone doc. I'd hate to leave here knowing you might still be… thinking about me. While you do… whatever it is you do in your free time."

She speaks slowly as she continues to smile, and there's an insanity in her eyes that wasn't there when she came to this place. But she had jumped off that cliff of sanity long ago. Did she still believe in goblins and a King that haunted her dreams just as Dr. Jones haunted her reality? She wasn't sure. The lines between reality and dreams had become muddled and blurred. But the truth was, they had no idea just how eager she was to be on the outside of this hell hole, to unleash what years of warped therapy and clinical testing does to a young girl who just had to be shut up for believing in fairytales. She'd stopped mentioning her dreams very early on, but they had never stopped coming, not really. They were no happy magical faerytales, or dreams of adventure and mischief. No, these dreams were just as terrifying, just as dark, sometimes even more so, than her reality. The King was always angry in her dreams, a madman trying desperately to catch her, chasing her and taunting her, as if he had a reason to be furious with her. He'd frightened her at first, but now she merely laughed at his continued failed attempts. He could never catch her, never find her, no matter how hard he tried. The heavier the medication, the less she saw of him. The harder he tried to reach her, the more she enjoyed watching him fail in his quest to do so. It had become her favorite game over the years.

If he were real? Well then, she had surely made her bed with such careless toying and the dark amusement she'd gained at his expense. It was such a warped pleasure, to enjoy something that had once terrified her to the point of frightening even her own parents with her night terrors of the man. He had no face anymore, he was a blur in her mind, but she recognized his presence all the same, and his rage only grew with every encounter they had, like a black cloud in her mind that she mocked with her laughter.

 _The King had given the girl certain powers_ … she often hummed this line in her head as she'd suffered under therapy sessions that left her unconscious or vomiting, or under heavy sedation as the Doctor had watched her with hooded eyes, tempted to do more but never breaching that line. If she had any power at all, if the Goblin King did exist, they should all be very, very afraid of what she was to become once freed. Vengeance tasted so sweet, like a rich wine to soothe away her pains every night as she disappeared into dreams of retribution.

The Doctor frowns, clearly through with her attitude. "Good luck out there, kid. It's a dark world for someone with so many problems."

Rage is a ringing in her ears. It hurts and it blinds her vision, distorting what she sees and what she knows. She becomes lost in it, and she laughs. It's so pretty and alluring yet terrifying all at once, growing increasingly loud and maniacal as the sound follows the good doctor all the way into the hall as he hurries to rid himself of the noise with an angry slam of the door as he stomps away.

* * *

The car was parked out front, waiting for her as she took slow, fluid steps out of the facility, stretching out her arms above her head like a cat enjoying the sunlight. They had given her a jumpsuit to take home, since she couldn't squeeze into the same clothes her fifteen year old self had been hauled in wearing. They'd also gifted her with a pair of sunglasses, since she'd been all but barred from the outside world during her stay, aside from the occasional morning jogs at daybreak and through the very small windows in her rooms over the years. She'd lost any color she'd had long ago, her dark hair and thick eyebrows only exemplifying the ghostly complexion.

Sarah took one look at the car before her and smiled, lips drawn back in a wide-spread grin that was out of place for the scene around her. A middle aged man stepped out of the driver side door and approached her, his discomfort apparent as he inspected the girl before him. She wasn't sure what troubled him more, her happy expression and glassy eyes amidst the hospital attire, or the fact that she'd somehow managed to still fully blossom into a young woman amidst all the strenuous physical and mental trials these last three years.

"Hey, kid," he says awkwardly, extending a hand to pat her on the shoulder. Sarah's eye twitches subtly at the nickname. Dr. Jones loved to demean her with it.

"It's Sarah, Dad. Just Sarah," she replies coolly, using a very unnatural amount of energy not to pull away from his hand resting on her shoulder, though she does stare at it silently. Any physical contact made her dangerously on edge.

"Uh, yea, of course, hon- I mean, Sarah. We should, uh.. we should go home," he motions at the car and removes himself from her quickly, clearly uncomfortable with this cold being that has replaced his once happy and bright daughter.

She continues to smile, despite this. She felt nothing upon seeing him, no happiness, sadness, anger. It was as if he were a stranger to her. She was hollow, empty, a shell. She wasn't Sarah anymore. She was the product of survival, and heavy, heavy medication. But as long as she behaved, she could have her old room back, her old toys. And nothing... _nothing, nothing, nothing_ could take away her freedom now.

* * *

 **As I mentioned above, reviews will determine if I keep this one going! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**For any future chapters there will be quite a few flashbacks for Sarah as she progresses. Anything in italics and between a set of "xxxx'" is a flashback for her, and will tend to be darker. The story works without them, so you can skip if you would like, but does give her mental state some background.**

 _ **Warnings: darker themes, mentions of abuse and torture.**_

* * *

Dinner. He'd expected her to attend a dinner her first night back. She'd been shown to a newly updated room, her old things apparently discarded in her absence. It was the first flicker of emotion she had upon returning home, to see every part of her removed from their lives, the bits of her childhood completely erased. The room was simple, reserved, as if someone had told them that the slightest bit of color would frighten her. There were clothes filling the closet to replace whatever she'd worn as a child. She wasn't sure what figure they'd assumed she'd taken over the years, since no one she knew had ever come to visit, but she was as thin and willowy as you could be without it being ghastly, and everything they'd purchased for her was several sizes to big.

She slung on a black spaghetti strap dress that hung loosely just a bit and had probably been meant for a night of dancing or clubbing, not a family dinner. It was so drastically different than what she was used to wearing, but she could have cared less, rather enjoying the color and the provocative nature of it, the thought of discomforting everyone around her more than necessary entirely thrilling.

She pulled on a pair of black boots that laced up the front and hit her mid thigh and smudged on a bit of black eyeliner and red lipstick. She stared blankly at the shell of a girl in the mirror. It would take some getting use to, seeing herself in anything other than scrubs. She looked so different than she remembered. No honey colored skin from playing out in the sun, no bright green eyes or sun-kissed freckles. She was pale, thin, taller. Her green eyes were stark and vacant, but vibrant all the same.

They had a reservation and the entire extended family was there. Karen had made one remark on her outfit, but Sarah's chilling blank stare in response silenced the timid woman all too quickly.

"Sarah, we're so happy to have you back," her father said as he toasted to the family and friends who sat around them, though his eyes never met hers.

They all chattered and laughed loudly, to loud. She clutched her fork tightly, knuckles white with strain, as she stabbed at the food on her plate. It was steak and potatoes, her old favorite. It wouldn't sit well in her stomach now, and she had no appetite anyways. Every noise became agitating, every cheerful welcome and reminiscent story a mere nuisance, grating her nerves and making her fingers itch to clench out of habit, to withhold the rage and maddening thoughts in her head. She sat silent and smiling, patient as a virtue as they berated her with a montage of what she'd missed since she'd left. When it became apparent that she was not going to reciprocate the sentimental rhetoric, the conversations waited and shifted to those around the table, fewer and fewer remarks directed at her.

"Where's Toby, daddy?"

She loves that he flinches at the velvety icy tone she spoke with now.

"You're brother is with a sitter tonight. We wanted to give you a chance to settle in before you saw him," he mutters, his forehead beginning to sweat.

So they wanted to feel out just how mad she was before exposing her to little Toby? She laughed silently at their apprehension. They had good reason to worry, they just didn't know the right reasons to be afraid.

"He'll be so excited to see you, Sarah," an Aunt on her father's side says, her blue shadowed eyes taking Sarah in slowly, judgement so obvious on her weathered face.

"Oh, goodie. I always liked that little brat," Sarah coos softly, her words so soft that those around her do a double take as if they misheard her.

The dinner ends quickly and the vibe descends from genuine intrigue and heartfelt welcomes to stoic unease and permeating discomfort. Sarah smiles the entire night, her eyes empty and devoid of light. She's getting anxious, because she hasn't taken her pills for the night, and she very much does not want to see _him_ just yet. She isn't sure how easily he can reach her now, being in her old room and her old bed, but she wants to savor his rage and failures a bit more before taunting him face to face, should he be real after all. She needs to find out just what it is he gifted her when she'd defeated that Labyrinth. If she'd gone mad for nothing, well wouldn't that just be a laugh.

* * *

Sarah watches her mirror on her old dresser in the black of night, statuesque and silent as the clock chimes slowly beside her. It is comforting to know the time, to measure it, to comprehend the day versus the night, to know precisely how much time has passed since she sat down, since she last blinked, since she last took a breath. The slow ticking noise becomes a melody, soothing in a way that lulls her into a state of restless ease.

Her mind is flipping through memories and thoughts to quickly to really ponder anything substantially, but there is one thought that has captured a good portion of her attention tonight. She wonders if he knows she's back in this space. She wonders if he ever knew she left. She wonders if he'll be as much fun to play with if he comes back, or if he was simply the only entertainment for a girl trapped in a white cell. There's a twisted leap of glee in her gut at the prospect that he could be real. It sends erratic butterflies through her and her lips pull back as she imagines what it will be like to see him again, not just a blur of darkness but an actual figure, one she can't remember anymore. She wants to play with him, make him suffer, feed his anger. It amuses her, and she loves to laugh. Throwing his failures in his face is the only time she feels any real freedom. She takes one pill more than she should, because she doesn't want to see him tonight. She savors the thought that even if she can't see him, he will see her, and though she isn't ready to face him, he will still suffer to know she is still out of reach.

Sarah lays awake in her bed staring at the ceiling blankly till the sun breaks, her mind lost between the random rattling she does in her mind to occupy the time, and the exhausted, medicated version of herself. Somehow the two sides compromise and let her find sleep at last, taking her into a world of memories filled with flickering lights and white walls.

* * *

 _Oh, you foolish little thing_ , he hums to himself menacingly, sharp teeth gleaming.

She is home. He can feel how close she is to the portal between their worlds, like a vibration in his bones. Whatever madness made her think it safe to return? It didn't matter. He will savor the odds that gifted her to him after all this time. He has waited ages for this moment, for when she would finally be within his reach once more.

"Would your majesty like me to stay? I'm not tired just yet." A beautiful blonde Fae stops pulling on her robes at the end of his bed, mistaking his feral grin for something more inviting. He flashes her cold eyes, irritated that she has pulled him from his thoughts.

"That won't be necessary," he replies quietly, flicking his crystals into existence and spinning them in his hand. He doesn't notice if or when the woman leaves, but he doesn't have to. They always know better than to assume he ever wants them in his presence longer than necessary. He's staring intently at his crystals, already lost in his search for that dark haired girl that has mocked him for far too long.

Her mind has been shrouded in a dense fog every time he's tried to enter it the last few years. It enrages him to no end. Why couldn't he see her? Why couldn't he catch her? And that laugh… when she'd laughed as a girl it had been beautiful, so soft and captivating. The laugh that escaped her now was mocking, insidious. It grated his ears mercilessly, followed him into his own dreams. He wanted to crush her windpipes between his bare hands.

He decides to try and find her tonight. She was so close, perhaps the fog would lift. But just as quickly as he wishes himself into her dreams is he then standing in a room of solid grey, nothing but a hint of light to give birth to shadows. There is nothing but an empty table in the center, the sound of wind gusting through the space though there is no breeze. Her mind is empty, vacant. He can't feel her anywhere inside of this place, as if she were capable of escaping her own mind. He breaks the table with one snarl of utter fury before returning to his kingdom.

He craved the chance to see her fear, feel the erratic pulse of her heartbeat beneath his hands as he wrung her pretty neck. He wanted to savor her demise, her suffering, for what she'd taken from him. He wanted to shackle her to his chambers and keep her there for eternity, all to himself. He would have her beg and bleed and cry for him. Excitement thrummed through him as the thoughts trailed through his head, each more delicious and twisted than the last. He would have her, to assuage the madness and rage she had inflicted on him. She would suffer his lashings and be cursed with his presence as he was now always cursed with hers. She would meet every desire his mood demanded and he would finally be in control once more, his revenge satiated over time.

He knew where she was, so close it physically pained him, but he needed her to say the right words. That was the trick after all. He could find her in her dreams, could frighten and terrify her, even go to her physically if he so wished to exhaust himself with such a feat. But in order to finally claim her, to take back what was his, he needed for her to call on him.

 _Soon, my precious thing._ But not soon enough.

* * *

Sarah has been home for three days and he has not visited her mind in those three nights. She is happy, but equally displeased by this fact. It had given her a chance to acclimate to her new surroundings, to adjust to the autonomy she now had. The anxiety had begun to melt away like wax and she was slowly becoming confident in herself once more. It was odd to wake up, dress, shower, eat, whenever she pleased, but she was adjusting well, and quickly. The Doctor would be so displeased to see his work rehabilitating, and she pushes herself hard every day for that very reason. She scrubbed every inch of herself till she couldn't smell the stench of plastic gloves and sterile sheets and had replaced it with the scent of Karen's rose scented soaps. She was going to rid herself of that place, eventually. Yet there is another issue arising. She's beginning to wonder if her medication is stronger than before. Her mind is not as sharp as it had been in the hospital. It is harder to keep her eyes open, to speak, to even pretend to be listening. Dr. Jones' final maneuver to manipulate her, she supposes. Not that he has to wait long before his games can start again. They have a weekly appointment scheduled for the next six months, starting next week. She had until then to become settled, to prepare.

Toby came home on her second day. He is beautiful. She holds him at night when no one else is awake, and sings him songs from their adventure in the Underground together. She doesn't know why she knows them all, but they haunted her dreams in the beginning, when _he_ had first begun to visit her at night. Toby smiles up at her, big blue eyes full of life and innocence. She wants to believe she can find such light again in herself, but she isn't sure that part of her survived.

* * *

The memories come back in waves, and sometimes she isn't sure if she is awake or asleep when they come, because they become so vivid she can feel the fear in her mind, the tension in her gut, the pain...

xxxx

 _The good doctor is standing over her. She is strapped to a chair and he is questioning her about her dreams. She won't speak, teeth grinding as she resists giving him any satisfaction. He wants her to talk about crazy things, because he wants to convince her that she is crazy. She knows. He's bad, bad, bad…_

 _Her mind slips into an escape, a world of sunshine and trees. She's in the meadows where she used to play dress up, and she is happy._

 _Pain erupts in her veins and she struggles and screams and begs to be released, but she can't move, can't escape. He's given her a dose of something through the IV in her arm and it burns through her veins, makes bile rise in her throat._

 _"Now, Sarah," his chiding tone pulls her wet eyes to him. "You know how much I dislike it when you ignore me."_

 _Sarah cries silently as he flips open his notebook once more._

 _"Let's start at the beginning again. Tell me about your friend, Hogwart."_

 _Sarah bites her tongue till she's bleeding. She glares at the doctor through tears and barely flinches when he crosses to her to give her another drop of the medicine he's been using to torture her with for weeks. He says she will become compliant one day, under his watch. He says he can't wait. He says he wants to be friends. He laughs when she screams, and then gives her a lollipop on his way out. He thinks she's earned it._

xxxx

She knows the memories will get worse when she stops taking her medication. She waits two more days, but the fatigue and dreariness is becoming unbearable. She can't face the good Doctor like this, he would merely be proving he can still control her, even on the outside. It would be worse than facing the Goblin King, she decides. Sarah stares at the orange pill bottle as she stands in the bathroom, alone in the dark. It takes several moments of heavy, erratic breathing before she flushes her pills away.

It's time to find out if there's any magic left in her world, or if her mind is truly trapped in a rabbit hole after all.

* * *

 **As always, very interested in hearing back from you all! Please R &R :) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the reviews! Hope you enjoy as it develops. The song below is one of my favorites, I love the vibe of it. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Gotta find my way, away from this place_  
 _Can you take me now?_  
 _I want it, I want it real_  
 _Are you afraid of me now?_

 ** _Do you Feel It? Chaos Chaos_**

* * *

There is a warmth returning to her. She can feel it growing inside her. The first day was terrible. She ached all over, cold sweats breaking out every hour. She sat in the shower till the water had run cold, and even longer after it had turned frigid. She holed up in her room, avoiding any contact as the symptoms of withdrawal burned through her like fire and ice. Karen brought her soup, and she vomited it all up as quietly as possible into the canister beside her desk. She didn't sleep that night.

The second day was better, but not by much. She was able to walk around a bit more. It was raining outside, and she left her windows open and let the fresh air wash over her, absorbing the energy of the earth as she pieced herself back together. Rest came in waves, and was never substantial, the aches and pains waking her often.

By the third day, it had officially been a week since she had left Dr. Jones and the hospital behind, and she was able to leave her room. She played with Toby, ate lunch with Karen in silence, and went for a walk to clear her head. That sense of warmth was growing. It felt foreign, repressed, perhaps a bit unwanted at the moment. It was a reminder of everything that had been taken from her, even from within.

Sarah walked slowly around the parks and enjoyed the sun. It was invigorating, to be able to wonder about once again. They were to afraid to tell her not to go off on her own. They were still terribly uncomfortable and distant around her, and she didn't mind. It would have been to much to fix herself, and her relationships, all in one week. When she'd finally found herself back on her street, her feet froze in place as she noticed a second car in the driveway. A bright red Honda CRX that she had never seen before. She made her way down the road and slowed as she approached it, eyes fixated on a briefcase sitting in the passenger seat. It was a worn, light brown leather with brass buckles. There was a coffee stain on the left side. Sarah's stomach rolled. She knew who was in her house. A part of her debated running away, escaping the reality of the next event to come. But she wasn't going to be afraid of the Doctor anymore. She let her walls go up, thick and sturdy, and entered her home.

He sat on the living room couch with her father, Toby playing on his blanky on the floor. It was one of the more disturbing images she had ever laid eyes on, such a domestic scene, with a monster in the midst of it all. When she stopped in the doorway of the living room the two men looked up. Her father gave a timid smile, but Doctor Jones lit up like a fucking match. He stood, but Sarah's flinch must have been visible because he didn't make another move toward her after that.

"Sarah, it's good to see you. I hope you don't mind, I just dropped by to ensure you'd been settling in well." He is grinning brightly, and she wants to mock him for his impatience, that he was already missing her so much that he had to come here, of all places, to haunt her. She knows it would only confuse and upset her family if she said anything, if she indicated even the slightest mistreatment at his hands. They both know she won't say anything.

"How thoughtful, doctor," she says in that rhythmic voice she uses when she's using her mask of indifference.

"We thought it would be wonderful if Doctor Jones stayed for dinner, Sarah. Might be good to have someone you're so used to around for the evening, don't you think?" Karen asks as she picks Toby up from the floor. She flashes Doctor Jones a warm smile and he returns it with one of his own.

Sarah is screaming internally, her mind trying to rationalize the situation, because this couldn't possibly be happening.

"I'd love to, but I was actually coming by to see if you all would like to visit the carnival that just rolled into town," Doctor Jones says. He pulls tickets out of his jacket pocket and hands them to her father. "I thought a little family outing would be good for the whole family to reconnect. Don't you agree, Sarah?" He turns to her and he looks so normal in his normal clothing, with his casual conversations, his stupid endearing invitations, his stupid glasses, stupid tickets, stupid smile, _stupid, stupid, stupid…_

Her eyes snap back up at him and she grins, cocking her head slowly. "Yes, I agree," she parrots automatically.

"Well, uh, sure. Yea, I think this would be good," Mr. Williams agrees with a nod of his head.

"Sarah why don't you go change and then we can go," Karen encourages. Apparently her sweatpants and t-shirt weren't going to cut it tonight, not for their honored guest.

Sarah moves fluidly past them all and climbs the stares slowly, though her limbs are trembling with the desire to bolt and hide. She shakes herself, her body still aches, but her mind is sharp now. She can handle him. She can make him weak, show him he is not so powerful now. She pulls on a red leather mini skirt and a tight white cotton crop top shirt, with a pair of white sneakers. She is amazed Karen has any taste at all, but she appreciates the thought behind these 'in-style' pieces. It makes her bolder, flashing the fair skin of her long legs and the peek-a-boo her midriff is doing is enticing enough to disturb the Doctor, she thinks. He's only seen her withered away, weak, in over-sized scrubs and unkempt. He can't intimidate her so much when they both look so disturbingly normal.

In less than ten minutes they are on the road, headed to the carnival. Before she has time to really process that this is not just another nightmare, she is standing next to Doctor Jones as Karen and her father take Toby through the line to the ferries wheel, leaving her alone with the fiend.

"Would you like to go on the ride, Sarah?" He asks, and she tugs a little too hard on the hair she is twirling between her fingers, keeping her eyes on anything but him. He abhorred this habit of hers, but she was intrigued to see if he would reprimand her in front of her family, or if the good doctor charade would last.

"I don't like heights," she sighs with a dramatic pout. Doctor Jones shuffles and flexes his hands. Sarah bites her lip to repress the satisfactory grin spreading. He won't play in front of witnesses. Which makes her wonder why he is even here, why bother?

"I would like some cotton candy, though," she says, suddenly very enthusiastic about the idea. She runs off to the nearest stand, ignoring her tormentor as he follows like a shadow behind her.

"Is that all?" A pretty young girl asks as she hands Sarah a massive stick of pink cotton candy. The girl looks to the man beside Sarah with a courteous smile.

"Just that atrocious sugary confection," he says with a charming smile as he hands the girl some cash. The girl is blushing and says something back, and Doctor Jones laughs at her retort. Sarah glares daggers into him, her calm demeanor never slipping. He was flirting with the girl, as if he wasn't a sociopath and instead just an average, attractive man out socializing.

xxxx

 _"What do you like to do for fun, Sarah?" he asks as he's filling out paperwork before her, barely acknowledging her during one of their therapy sessions._

 _"I... like to read," she replies honestly, her lips so chapped they are cracked, her voice hoarse from the lack of use, this being her first human interaction in days._

 _He looks up at that and smiles. "Would you like me to bring you a book to read?"_

 _Sarah blinks slowly, trying to keep her eyes open as she stares at him. He had her heavily sedated recently, it had taken a nurse's assistance just to get down the hall to this room._

 _"Sarah?" he asks more firmly this time._

 _"Yes, Doctor Jones." He smiles, flashing perfect teeth at her._

 _"Then you're going to have to tell me why you just spent the last few days in isolation. Be honest, Sarah."_

 _Sarah tries to glare at him, but the muscles in her body react slowly to her commands. She debates whether or not to concede this time. He wants her to lie, he wants her to admit to something that had never occurred, as he's tried before. All a part of his manipulation, his games. It's been so long since she's had anything to distract her mind from the monotony of this place though. What would she really lose by doing as he asked?_

 _"I..." she bites her lip, unsure what she should do._

 _"Yes?" he pushes, almost encouragingly._

 _"I... I clawed my nurses face... because he looked like... like a... a goblin..." she mutters out the words, hating herself for being so weak, for giving him any satisfaction. Anything to dull the numbing existence she led though. Anything for a distraction._

 _He cracks a grin, pleased with her false admission. He sends her back to her usual room that day, and she hates herself. When she wakes the next morning there is a thin, red book on her side table. She doesn't have to pick it up to know what it is. The gold lettering stands out starkly on the leather binding. His twisted sense of humor is unbearable and she disposes of it immediately. She never makes such an admission again._

xxxx

* * *

Sarah walks off without waiting for him to finish paying. She needs to find her family, she can't get pulled away from them. She doesn't know why he's here or what he wants but she doesn't trust this little visit. They are high up on the ferris wheel now and Sarah waves at them from the ground as she munches on the cotton candy, the sugar making her fingers sticky almost instantly.

"I always knew you had a sweet tooth," the Doctor says mildly as he stands next to her once more. Sarah seethes inside that he has the audacity to make small talk with her.

"You think you know everything about me, Doctor," Sarah replies coldly, a twist on her lips.

He looks at her, brown eyes flaring. "Of course I do. I spent three years with you, Sarah. What more could there be to a simple, boring girl with sleeping troubles?"

"So simple and boring you had to come visit within week of losing me?" Sarah gives him a withering smirk before sucking the sugary residue of her fingers. The good doctor watches her movements and she can't decide if he is intentionally obvious with his lingering gaze this time or if he is struggling to restrain himself so hard he doesn't even know he's doing it.

"Have you been taking your pills, Sarah?" He asks, and his breathing has become slightly heavier. "You look thinner than usual."

"Of course, doc," she gives him a deadpan stare, and his eyes narrow slightly.

"I do hope so, kid."

Sarah smiles brightly, eyes full of jaded stones. He wanted to see his last hand in effect, and appeared to be disappointed it wasn't working as well as he thought. She wondered how outraged he'd have been if she'd told him the truth. She almost does, just to find out, but she hears her parents calling for her and turns from him to greet them as they rejoin them. She holds Toby and plays with him as the _adults_ chatter away as they walk about the carnival events.

The sun is setting and the crowds are lining up for the final act of the night. Her family goes to find seats for them all, but Sarah excuses herself to find the bathroom. Her stomach in painful knots, her mind starting to slip as she continues to deflect and avoid the Doctor, who seems to have beguiled her parents. It is beginning to wear her down, and memories are flickering by faster now, dark thoughts of repayment following close behind. She takes a few minutes to count her breathing. She washes her hands and then pats cold water on her face before finally leaving to rejoin her group. Doctor Jones is waiting for her outside in the dark, and there are only a few stragglers left around them as the show is beginning inside the tent, the sound of bells and music filling the night air. Sarah moves warily around him toward the carnival tent where her family is, eyes locked on him as she does so.

"Sarah," he says her name with that chiding, commanding tone he used in the hospital.

"I wouldn't bother with that, if I were you, doc," she says sweetly, walking around him with an air of confidence she knows is rattling him, even if he doesn't realize just how on edge she is as well.

"I know you're not on your medication, Sarah," he moves toward her but she steps away quickly.

"And what if I'm not?" She challenges.

His jaw ticks, and he gives her that all to familiar disparaging look.

"I could have you locked up again." His threat was supposed to terrify her, but she laughs in his face instead.

"You couldn't even last a week without seeing me, doc. What would you do if I were gone for good?" Her voice drops to a near hiss as she taunts him.

He makes a frustrated noise before reaching for her and grabbing her arm roughly. Sarah instantly panics. He's never touched her before, not like this, not skin to skin. She is suddenly a frenzy of kicking and clawing until he releases her with a curse. Sarah doesn't think, she just runs, and runs, until she is suddenly surrounded by trees as she breaches a small, dense forest just outside the carnival grounds. She doesn't wait to find out if he's chasing her, her heart hammering in her chest as she continues.

"SARAH!" His furious scream cuts through the darkness and she runs faster.

Sarah can't see anything as she flies through the darkness. She doesn't see the log on the ground as her foot catches on it, sending her falling forward, head slamming against a rock on the ground with a sickening crack, knocking the wind out of her completely, vision going black as her limbs go limp.

* * *

Sarah wakes slowly. There is a scent in the air she recognizes but she isn't sure why. She blinks a few times and sits up. She's still surrounded by trees but they are different than the ones she was running through, and there is the glimmer of moonlight around her now. The trees are thicker, coated in moss and vines, the ground thick with foliage and damp from the perspiration of the night. There's an almost glittery shimmer on the trees and the ground around her, the moonlight reflecting off it beautifully. It's then that she pieces it together. That scent is magic, and she's in the woods of the Labyrinth, which means she's dreaming for the first time in weeks. Which meant one thing. _He_ could nearby.

Sarah jumps to her feet and begins to meander around the space. Her dreams normally begin halfway trough the chase, that's why she didn't realize immediately. She's never had time to wait around for him to appear, he's always been right on her tale every time before. Perhaps he's forgotten their game, or given up. She is distressed greatly by the thought, and she considers calling for him but she doesn't. She is equally afraid of him as she is amused by him.

In the moments she is pondering her situation, a vine creeps through the foliage near her and whips out of the darkness to wrap tightly around one of her ankles. Sarah jumps back and screams, but the vine tugs on her sharply in return and she tumbles to the ground. Another vine creeps out, taking hold of one of her wrists and pulling tight enough to make her fall back into the ground with a thud. Sarah jerks violently on the restraints, which only painfully pull tighter. She forces her body to relax then, breathing heavily as she reasons that this is just a dream, her mind combining memories of her time in the hospital with the forest of the Labyrinth. This was in no way a trap. He couldn't possibly have laid a trap. This was _her_ dream. Her confidence wains when the vines cut into her skin, the pain flaring. It feels to real, and she wonders if perhaps she isn't dreaming. Maybe being off her medicine was messing with her? Was she hallucinating? She struggles, but the pain only sharpens.

"Um, if by chance this is not all in my head, and I am in fact simply hallucinating, if someone were around to uh, help a girl out, I'd really appreciate it," she calls out into the silent darkness. Another vine snatches around her right hand and her other free foot, pulling her till she was in a stiff X on the ground.

"Damnit, I should have worn pants," she groans, staring down at her leather mini skirt hiked up way past her panties at this point. The vines began to pull until her muscles burned in resistance.

"Ah, ha, ha, ha," her cry of pain turns into a mottled laugh as she continues to struggle. Just her luck, really. A noise came from somewhere distant behind her head, and she snapped her eyes around, expecting to see some monster that she would surely be eaten by.

"Hello? Anyone out there?" She calls out, part of her hoping it's him, most of her dreading that it is. "Damsel in distress over here! Waiting for a prince charming to save her!" Her tone is filled with morbid amusement and distress, a disturbing mix. She kicks at the vines in frustration, but they hold viciously on her.

"A prince charming, you say? I'm afraid we are fresh out of those." A taunting, silken voice responded from somewhere in the darkness.

"Perhaps a condescending king then?" She flashes a bright, sardonic grin.

The click of footsteps approach her, coming from somewhere behind her head. She strained her neck to try and see the figure approaching, but could only make out the light reflecting off of black leather boots. Not that she needed to see to know. It was him. She could feel the contemptuous and malicious shadow he brought with him, ebbing against her skin already. She mentally groaned, knowing this was not exactly how she'd planned on facing him, but perhaps she could work something out in her favor, if she stayed sharp enough...

"My, quite the spectacle you make," he mused darkly as he stares down at her. "I'm surprised with all the noise you're making something hasn't just eaten you up to silence you."

"Ah, well I am made of sugar, terrible stomach ache in store for anyone who wants a bite," she replied flippantly, trying very hard to stay lucid, her mind splintering by the second as fear and memories trickled in of white tables, leather restraints, bright lights... _Stay focused, Sarah, even if he lets you out you still have to make a run for it,_ she reminds herself. _Distract him, keep his anger at bay till your lose._

"Is that so? I have quite the sweet tooth." She could hear the smirk on his lips, and despite the look of something dangerously hungry in his eyes, she smiles as innocently as she can and wriggles against the restraints for show.

"Well, perhaps if you help me out, I'll let you have a taste," she purrs.

He looked faintly surprised at her response, but a harsh laughs escapes him as he takes a few more steps till he is standing over the side of her, his stark white hair falling around his face, arms crossed over a lean chest. He towered over her, much taller than she remembered him being. She couldn't make out his face, just those strange mismatched eyes gleaming with an arrogance even the good doctor didn't possess.

"Help a girl out?" she pouted once more when he said nothing, trying to remain as in control of her situation as possible.

"For a price." He flashes a wolfish smile at her, teeth so white they sparkled in the darkness. Sarah tried not to sneer in response.

"What would you like?" she asks sweetly instead, though her insides are beginning to squirm uncomfortably. His bright eyes trail down her compromising position, raking over her form with a flicker of desire before returning to her face. Sarah felt the urge to blush, but after years of practice, she hid it well.

"I have many things I desire from you, my precious thing."

"Anything to get out of these," she jerked on the vines once more and they tightened even more so. "Ah, shit," she let's out an exasperated chuckle this time. If he finds her behavior odd he doesn't remark on it.

"Do keep tugging, they'll only get worse," his rumbles, taking great amusement from her pain and compromising position, even still as he watches her go complacently still.

He moved to kneel next to her, and Sarah had to fight the urge to inch away from him. With a glint of something sharp amidst the darkness, he severs the two vines on her wrists, then moves for the ones on her ankles. Did he have a knife on him? She hadn't seen one in his hand. _Odd._ He extends his hand to her, a show of chivalry she finds both ridiculous and unexpected. She disregards it and stands as fluidly as possible, brushing the dirt from herself and forcing a smile that could have knocked ten men flat. She knows she has a beguiling look about her, and she quite enjoys how effective it is on those around her when she chooses to use it.

"Should I thank you before or after we begin our little game?" She asks as she bats her eyes fluidly at him, wondering how in the world she managed to get free. She'd thought he'd simply jump on the chance to harm her.

Jareth cocks his head slowly, those haunting eyes staring at her with an intensity that had her unconsciously stepping back a bit. In the darkness, with a sharp face and bright eyes cast in shadows, and a roguish smile, he looked like a very, very pleased predator. Perhaps he wants to play first, she realizes. Sarah takes another step backward, righting her skirt in the process. His eyes followed the movements of her hands.

"I believe you owe me a payment, Sarah," he practically purrs her name, a seductive tinge to his words as he takes a measured step toward her. Sarah backed up an equal distance. She wasn't the type of girl to forsake boundaries just to appear polite, not if she could control it.

"Demanding payment so soon? How boring of you," she sighs dramatically. "I thought you'd still be at least a little fun."

He cocked his head again, his eyes sharpening dangerously.

"Oh, my darling girl," he bares his fangs at her, taking another menacing step toward her. "How I have missed that sharp tongue. But I'm afraid I'll be needing something from you before I have my fun with you." The timber of his voice sends a shiver up her spine, and despite the fear that accompanies it, she is excited by his words.

She flashes her first, genuine smile of the night. She takes a step toward him until she is close enough to place both hands on his chest. A slither of something warm flushes through her when her hands brush over his cold chest. She didn't know she could actually touch him in these dreams, and it is thrilling. His eyes have gone black as he watches her lean in toward him. Sarah inhales his intoxicating scent, like the air during a thunderstorm, and brings her lips a hairsbreadth away from his, a cheeky grin on her face for what she plans to do.

"Take this for the road, Goblin King," she whispers with a decadent drawl. With a bright glint in her eyes, she shoves him. Hard. He was so captivated by her hands on him, her sudden nearness of her lips, her lack of trepidation as she closed in on him, that he wasn't ready for the unexpected movement and he stumbles backwards. With a loud laugh of amusement she bolts off through the trees faster than she'd ever run in her life.

She turned her eyes back for a quick glance to see if he had followed her and in that brief second she landed hard against a tree. She braced herself for the fall backwards, but she remained suspended, pressed hard against the tree. Except the tree was… clutching her? Tightly?

"Oh, shit," she whispered.

"Yes, _oh, shit_ ," Jareth replied disparagingly. In the next second she's been shoved hard against a tree, her head cracking against the hard surface behind her, his gloved hand nearly crushing her throat as he towers over her with terrifying intent in his feral smile.

"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. That was so very... _foolish_ of you," he rumbles with delight.

"Are you going to kill me?" She asks with strain, her voice choked beneath his grip.

"What good would you be to me dead?" He asks, his words quiet and rhetorical, as if he's speaking to a child. He relaxes his grip, but just barely. "No, I don't want to kill you, _little girl_. But I'm afraid I'm incapable of doing everything I would enjoy doing to you at the moment." His voice turned sharp as razors. Her eyes dart around in a panic, but he has her trapped right where he wants her.

It takes her a moment to process the fact that he is touching her, a gloved hand pressed firmly against her skin. She'd normally be reeling away by now, panic settling in her gut and turning her into a frenzy of limbs to be released from this hold. She stares at his hand curiously, her mind wondering off in confusion as to why she isn't disturbed by his hands on her. He grows irritated, sensing she is no longer paying attention to him.

"Do tell me how you've managed to evade me, little Sarah," he says her name like it's a treat on his tongue but his hand presses more firmly now, as if to remind her how easily he could hurt her if he so wished.

She finally glances up and smiles widely. "How should I know? It's all fuzzy upstairs these days," she taps her head for show.

Jareth sneers down at her. She's looking up at him with big, docile eyes, any fear that she might have had before completely gone. She doesn't even appear to be overly affected by his presence. She seems confused by something, her eyes going vacant as she continues to stare at him, inspecting him with vague interest. He shakes her roughly, as if his frustration can rattle her brain.

"My patience is so very thin with you," he snarls.

She laughs. "I have that effect on people. Dr. Jones doesn't like it either."

He pulls back at that. A doctor? Was she sick? Is that where she'd been all this time? Somewhere in the Aboveground dying of a mortal disease? The thought enrages him. He could have lost what was rightfully his over something so measly as disease?

"Are you sick?" he asks more harshly than he intended to, his hands moving down and clamping on her arms to a painful point and she grimaces. He doesn't bother relaxing this time, wishing the bruising he is causing would remain on her even after she's left this place. "Tell me," he snaps when she doesn't respond.

"Completely mental," she snaps back with a voracious smile. He stares at her on confusion, a snarl on his lips as his patience frays. What the bloody hell did that have to do with what he'd just asked her?

"I asked if you were sick, you stupid girl," his tone turns condescending, to enunciate how inept he seemed to find her. She glares up at him, and he sees a familiar spark in her eyes, a spark that was somehow vacant this entire dream until now. For the first time he realizes she's wearing a mask, she's hiding behind something and she's doing a very good job of it. Then it clicks, and he remembers the 'doctors' humans had for those they deemed mentally insane.

"Oh, poor little Sarah. Did they think you mad after your little adventure in my Labyrinth?" He barks out a laugh when she doesn't reply, instead staring blankly back, her eyes glossy as if she is retreating mentally from their conversation. He shakes her roughly once to stop her from receeding, one hand shooting up to snake into her hair and force her head at angle so she can't look away from him again.

He grins like a wolf and hovers over her, so close he can almost taste the fresh scent of her on his tongue. He's amazed at how… pristine her smell is, as if she'd never been touched by another. It's tainted by the scent of roses and the acidic smell of unresolved rage, one he recognizes all to well. But the innocence beneath it is palpable and his mouth begins to water at the thought of possessing it. Something all to himself, something he deserves.

"I suppose I just had turn out _mad_ , like the rest of you," she spits back bitterly.

She jerks back from his grip and when he refuses to release her she bares her teeth and her eyes go stark with terrifying fury. She looks ready to scratch his eyes out, and more, if he refuses her. He releases her out of surprise at the swift change in her demeanor. Besides, had she attacked him it wouldn't have bode well for either of them. He can't punish her here as he wishes to, and if she tries his temper he will have to leave before he does something he regrets.

As if he hadn't upset her in the first place, a smile returns to her face and he is once again dazed by it. Her behavior was erratic, unpredictable and cynical in nature. She is not the girl he last faced. She was a woman now, fully blossomed, a bit to thin, but nothing he couldn't fix. But with this physical change, it appeared her mind had also shifted, replaced with something heavily guarded behind layers of temperamental and falsified bravado and amusement. Perhaps more damage had been done than he'd originally thought, or perhaps she had simply gone insane after it all. But his dreams he had sent her hadn't been designed to break her, not yet at least. They'd merely been to frighten her until she gave him what he wanted. She had been perfectly intact right before the fog had entered her mind. This couldn't possibly be the result of his own work. He wondered if the Doctors had damaged her in some way, this Doctor Jones, she mentioned perhaps. White hot jealousy crept through his being. It was hard enough to hold back his temper as it was, but the thought of anyone else tormenting her made his hinges nearly come undone. She was _his_ to drive mad, to break, to torment. No one else's.

He brought a hand to her chin without thought, a claw running down her cheek slowly. Sarah's eyes darted, as if contemplating pulling away. He snatched her chin in his hand before she could and stepped close once more, their chests almost brushing. Sarah couldn't breathe, he was so close, his scent so enticing, she was lost in all of him for a moment. Then she noticed the odd sharpness of his teeth again, the mismatched eyes that glinted with terrifying intrigue and intent.

"Oh, you're not mad, darling. Not yet," his words are misleadingly soft as he hovers over her. "Now about my payment," he drawls seductively as he stares intently down at her.

Sarah is almost drawn into him once more, but she feels something, a pressure around her arms and legs, as if something is compressing around her. His eyes have become hooded, and she knows he is going to kiss her, perhaps before even he realizes he is going to. His lips brush hers and she smiles. Her mind is being pulled away, someone is jostling her body around on the other side, and she's waking up.

"Rain check?" she asks brightly.

He pulls back in confusion, but she doesn't have time to savor his burst of sudden fury as she is ripped from her dream, a laugh escaping her lips as she awakens in the arms of her father carrying her to the car. The small group of searchers from the carnival dissipate after it appears she just took a small slip in the woods, the good doctor assuring them all she must have just gotten turned around. She is still smiling when her eyes meet with the good doctor's from the backseat of her car as they drive off, leaving him behind in the darkness, where he belongs.

* * *

 **I appreciate any and all feedback, so do leave a review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews and feedback! I really appreciate it all. I plan to keep this story updated rather regularly, so on weeks where I'm not totally swamped at work I hope to be putting up at least 1-2 new chapters. Enjoy!**

 _ **Warning: violence and torture, some sexual content below**_

* * *

 _In the land of gods and monsters  
_ _I was an angel  
_ _Living in the garden of evil  
_ _Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed  
_ _Shining like a fiery beacon_

 _Gods and Monsters, Lana Del Rey_

* * *

He is seething. She had escaped him once again, and this time very much at his own fault. Jareth returned to his kingdom empty handed and now sat amidst the remains of his chambers, a mess of debris from his outburst upon arriving. His mind finally began to settle as he sipped slowly on a dark mead as he processed the events of her dream. He'd been so utterly intrigued by her, her unexpected behaviors and that beguiling act she'd put on for him. Not to mention it was the first time he'd been able to see her in one of her dreams, not just mere glimpses as she ran from him. Even cast in shadows, surrounded by the sparkling moonlight of the Underground, she was breathtaking. He'd been rendered useless during such a vital opportunity over something so pathetic as a pretty face and mesmerizing conversation. She had gotten away, and she'd reveled in that victory, the sound of her laughter still ringing in his ears. She was nothing he had expected or anticipated, and he mused over the fact that her ambivalent and senseless behaviors, paired with the delicious curves she'd developed, had saved her a much more damaging encounter with his dismal mood. He'd been set off his plan from the start, his desire to tear her apart overthrown by his painful arousal and his curiosity as he'd been left wondering what she'd do every step of the way. She'd surprised him, continuously, and he both despised and marveled at the fact.

This matter of Doctor Jones was an issue in itself, one he would have to settle. There was an animalistic obsessiveness that had been rooted inside him when it came to his champion, but now it was growing rabid. If she was going to suffer, it would be at his hands, and if this Doctor had even the slightest involvement in his inability to reach her these past years, or had damaged her irrevocably, then there'd be blood spilt over it.

She'd clearly escaped this Doctor somehow, even speaking of him as if amused with his treatment of her, yet there'd been a deadly spark in her eyes as she mused over her memories of the man. Whatever he'd done to her had made her into this new being, one that Jareth felt an unnerving desire for. She even seemed willing to play their little games from her youth. Games she had once run from, she now turned on him with glee. But there were much more fun games to initiate if she wanted to play. He had to be stealthy, not lose his thoughts for even a moment when he was with her next. He had to play with that jaded mind, manipulate her just a bit further off the ledge, to get her where he needed her. She had to call for him still for him to succeed, and he would make it so that she screamed his name in the end.

She would be… _such a treat._

* * *

It's early in the morning and the light is just beginning to trickle into her room. She didn't sleep again after arriving home from the carnival. Nor did she the two nights that followed. Sarah moved to sit on the sill of her window, wrapped tightly in a blanket as she stares out into the misty grey morning. Her mind was unable to find ease as her appointment with the good Doctor approached. He is more aggressive now, it would appear. Brazen enough to show up at her home, to grab at her. What would he have done to her that night of the carnival if she hadn't gotten away? Her stomach twists at the thought.

The Doctor had requested Karen keep close watch on her pill intake, and Sarah could have keeled over that the woman jumped at his command to do so. It had taken less than a day for her to realize what Sarah had done with them, and in even less time did she have a refill placed through Doctor Jones, who compassionately calmed Karen down from her worries, assuring her it was all too common behavior in unstable patients. Sarah is exceptionally good at faking that she was taking her medication, but it didn't help that she is tempted to take them, if only to forget… But she wants to see Jareth again, she wants to know why she can touch him in her dreams, why it doesn't bother her, and what it is he wants from her to pursue her so recklessly. What did he give her all those years ago? She knows, deep down, that he hadn't intended a mere kiss to be his payment. If she knew him as the fiend he is, there is something he will ask her to forfeit to him, whatever 'gift' he had given her before. She must simply uncover what it is before that can happen. It is that reason alone that she continues to flush them each night and morning after pretending to swallow them as Karen watches.

Her first appointment is with him today. Karen drops her off at the front steps of his home. He does his therapy sessions at his in-home office, which Sarah finds deliriously entertaining. What would she find inside the good Doctors home? Would it be pristine and boring? Filled with pictures of his family and friends like some normal individual living a fulfilling life? Karen waits for Sarah to ring the doorbell and see the wooden door swing open before she pulls away, leaving Sarah with a twisted smile on her face as she stares up at Doctor Jones from the other side of the screen door. He is smiling brightly as he beckons her inside. He does a double take at her attire for the day, and she winks at him just to watch him turn red with unsettled irritation at her boldness. She's wearing slightly baggy jeans high-rise jeans and another cropped shirt that leaves her waist bare, her hair in pretty waves and even a touch of makeup today. She wants to unravel his sense of power, make him unsure of his methods, of how much control he ever really had, even if her stomach rolls in revulsion as she sits across from him.

"Sarah. I would like to apologize for my behavior the other night," He begins, setting a glass of water on the table in front of them as he fixes his glasses.

"What behavior might that be, _doc_?" she asks with a sugary sweet tone that makes his lip twitch. He clears his throat and flips open his notepad before continuing.

"I simply worry over your well-being..."

"My well-being?" she interrupts him with a haunting chuckle, and she knows how utterly infuriated that makes him. "Do you attack all your patients once they've left your control? Or am I... special?" She's twiddling with her hair and his eyes are glued on her. The brown depths are rattled, and she loves that he can do nothing now, not when Karen is set to be back in just twenty minutes from now.

"I hear you've been taking your medication, like a good little girl," he emphasizes his choice of descriptive words in a way that makes her skin crawl.

"Anything for you, Doctor Jones."

Sarah stands and begins leisurely strolling about his office, inspecting the old furniture and the wall of books he has, as well as the framed degrees he holds. She imagines lighting them on fire, watching the paper disintegrate till the flames singe her fingers, and then perhaps she'll let the flames take her with them...

Her eyes snap up and she notices Doctor Jones watching her, his tension palpable as he clutches the leather arms of his chair, a show of restraint that makes her wary but also flares her amusement and that careless desire to taunt him.

"Aren't you going to ask me more questions for your report?" she mocks his discomfort, grin spreading as he clears his throat once more.

"How have you been feeling?" he asks, clicking his pen to begin writing, dragging his eyes from her.

"Peachy," she purrs, continuing her waltz around the small room, noticing a very sharp, brass letter letter opener lying openly on his desk.

"Any trouble sleeping?" he continues, the scratching of his pen still going as she approaches the desk slowly.

"Not at all." Sarah's hand trails over the papers and books stacked on his desk, the space in complete disarray.

"And what about your dreams? Have they returned?"

Sarah's hand freezes over blade, the cold metal against her finger tips as she becomes glued on the piece, eyes going starkly vacant and her breathing dipping shallowly as her mind slips off into dark memories...

xxxx

 _The good doctor is standing over her, her body bound to the cold tabletop, a flimsy medical gown the only barrier that covers her as the nurse swabs a cold liquid against her temples. Sarah is frozen stiff, her eyes vacant as they ready her for the doctors treatment, completely removed from her reality and tucked safely away in her head. She's been here before, she knows what's next, she doesn't to experience it again. The Doctor is staring down at her, a clinically sterile smile on his face as he watches the nurses force a leather biter between her teeth. He's been so displeased with her lately, he thinks she's given up, or at least attempting to, to mentally hide from his treatments and his games. She stopped speaking, almost entirely, stopped eating, stopped fighting. She was as docile and obedient as a well-trained dog. But he grows even more uneasy around her now, and he fidgets incessantly as he tries to prod and poke her from this state. She isn't sure what he wants anymore. In the beginning he wanted submission, complacency. The moment he'd received it, he wanted her to fight back, to continue challenging him. She assumes this impromptu treatment is a result of her zombie-like state over the last week. He's annoyed with her monotone, withdrawn attitude, or perhaps he is merely bored. They were only permitted four weeks worth of this type of treatment, yet he's informed the nurses that her father permitted another six weeks. She knows he's lying, his eyes shift uneasily when he does so. But just as before in all their other encounters, she doesn't argue or resist, her mind is a million miles away, thinking of magic and how she wished she knew how to use it. She wanted to hurt him, she wanted to make him suffer in return. It is such a wonderful state of mind, imagining all the things she would do to him if she could. She wonders if her Goblin King will see her tonight, but she knows that something about this particular treatment always blocks him. He can never reach her after one of these sessions, and she hates that the Doctor can take her one pastime from her, even if he doesn't know it._

 _Doctor Jones leans beside her, just close enough to whisper in her ear as the nurse moves away to ready the machine._

" _Perhaps this is just the jolt you need, Sarah," his words are pointed and demeaning, and she knows that he will enjoy this with every sick fiber of his being._

 _Doctor Jones moves to the head of the bed and takes hold of the two metal pieces covered in a thin layer of protective material, attached to wiring that connects to a tan box with dials on the front. They think he has administered her anesthesia, but he hasn't, he never does. He adjusts it so each bit rests against her temple, before cupping her chin in his hand, the latex of his gloves making her skin crawl. He smiles down at her before turning to a nurse and giving a directive, but she can't hear anymore, her ears deaf from a ringing that won't stop as fear escalates and her heart races. His grip tightens and she clenches her eyes shut. She's thankful that there is no impending wait, no prolonged anticipation for the pain, because even the nurses have a line and they don't like scaring the patients unnecessarily._

 _It jolts through her like electric fire, her body feels as though it's being boiled from the inside out. Her muscles contract and release repeatedly, painfully, her body convulsing as the currents ripple through her mercilessly. She can't breath, or see, or move. Her entire being is controlled by this pain for moments on end, until she finally passes out and escapes to darkness._

xxxx

"Sarah?" he asks with mild admonishment in his tone. He is peering over his shoulder at her curiously and she jerks her hand back from the blade, shaking her mind from its dark state, turning toward him and leaning against the desk fluidly.

"Just one," She says smartly. Doctor Jones raises an eyebrow at that. She hasn't admitted to a dream in at least two years.

"And what happened in this dream?" he continues to write in his notepad. Someday she hopes to rip it from his hands, read every little thing he's ever written of her...

"I saw _him_ ," she says simply, moving toward the window of his study, pleased that this movement is visibly disconcerting to him as he subtly shifts to keep his eyes on her.

"Him? The Goblin King you've mentioned?" Sarah nods.

"What happened in your dream?" Doctor Jones pushes.

"He attacked me, taunted me. He wanted something from me."

"What could he possibly want from you after all these years? Perhaps it was merely a projection of your life and memories within your dreams? Did I leave an adverse effect on you, sweet Sarah?" Doctor Jones smirks at that, his pen no longer moving.

Sarah slowly turns back to him, taking slow measured steps till she is just before him. She leans forward, letting her hand rest on the head of the chair behind his head, her hair cascading around them and filling the space between their faces with the scent of roses.

"I would never mistake you for _him_ , Doctor Jones. You're not even playing in the same league. You are a human playing the game of a god. He's just the devil who knows how to play it better."

She is whispering, almost sweetly, as she speaks, but there is venom and disgust in her eyes, and she smiles prettily as she pulls away, leaving the Doctor fumbling for his next words. She enjoys making him speechless, but she can see the flicker of something dangerous growing in his eyes. Doctor Jones was more mad than his patients would ever be, and wherever that madness lurked inside him, it was beginning to slowly make its way to the surface. Sarah just hoped she was able to end this game with him before he did. Karen's horn beeps several moments later, breaking the silence between them. Sarah smiles brightly, as though she'd just had a wonderful time and was off to her next adventure. In seconds she is waving back at him brightly from the window of her step-mothers car as they drive off, leaving a terrifyingly insidious looking doctor watching from his study window.

Sarah sits through another long and painful dinner of questions and awkward silence that night. She isn't eating much these days and eventually fatigue catches up to her, allowing her to slip into a deep slumber.

* * *

There are tall walls around her, so tall she can't see where they stop past the mist circulating around her in the dark lighting of the Labyrinth. She is running, somewhere in the middle of the this game of cat and mouse, much like her other dreams of this place. She can sense that she is being chased, but she can't see him. His presence is there though, and she grins as she takes a sharp corner and wheels around to see that she's hit a dead end. Without pause she turns back to the way she'd come, awaiting her King to arrive. She's not so afraid of him now as to keep exhausting herself by running in circles. She found she much rather another face off, a chance to perhaps see him fully now, without the shadows to hide him. He'd been so terrifyingly exciting, what she'd seen of him had been handsome, but she still couldn't piece together all the images of his face, her mind hurting every time she tried. She waits patiently, striking a relaxed pose as she leans against the wall behind her and twirls a strand of hair between her fingers.

Sarah is watching the entrance she came through expectantly, so when the wall behind her vanishes without notice, she takes a hard tumble backwards into a completely new area of the Labyrinth. Her head bounces off the stone floor and the sharp pain rattling through her skull is enough to make her see stars briefly.

He's leaning beside the opening on the wall he created between the two rooms, smirking down at her as she blinks away the pain. He'd thought it best to wipe that confident, albeit bored, look off her face before revealing himself to her. It leaves an uneasy thrill in his bones that she dared to challenge him so openly. The scent of copper fills the air and his blood warms with excitement. She's much more physical in these dreams than she was as a child, her mind bent far enough in their time apart that she accepts the results of the dreams as if they're reality, and he savors her newly developed weakness.

Sarah sits up and a hand tentatively reaches behind to touch her hair. Her fingers come away coated in thick red liquid and she stares at it dazed.

"Can you bleed in dreams?" She asks, her voice entrancingly soft as she watches the red run down her slender fingers.

"Only if you believe you can."

His voice is condescending and seductive as it was before, a combination she will never forget. His words confuse her but he leaves her with no moment to process them. Jareth snatches her by her collar and jerks her to her feet, giving her a hard shove forward till she almost stumbles to the ground again, catching herself quickly on the corner of a massive stone in the center of the circle they stand in before she takes another hard fall. She pulls herself upright and runs a hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face gracefully as she turns her eyes on him with strikingly fluid movements.

"Another night, another demon. Did you miss me?" She flashes him a perfect smile, but her eyes are deadened. He begrudgingly notices that she is thinner than before. How long had they been apart this time? He thought it had only been a few days, but if that were true then she'd have been starving herself for this noticeable of a difference. This unsettles him far more than it should, and not because he is not the one depriving her of nourishment. The mere thought of her withering away like that is enough to draw a subtle growl from deep within his chest.

"I merely came for my payment. I would never waste the energy to miss something as insignificant as you, my darling girl," he mocks her, a contemptuous smirk on his lips. Sarah sighs, eyes falling to the stone beside her where her bloody hand is resting. She ignores his remark on the payment, focusing on his insult instead.

"The Doctor says much the same, however I believe you both to be careless liars."

Jareth's jaw clenches, sharply displeased she is comparing him to a mere mortal, tormentor or not.

"He seems to have a bit of sense about him when it comes to you. Perhaps it's _you_ who have been the problem, Sarah dearest."

Her eyes flash back up at him and they are jagged pitfalls of danger. He's found a sore spot.

"Perhaps that's true. I seem to have a habit of luring deranged men into my life." She is grinning, mocking him. He wants to strike the look from her delicate face.

"Clearly he's done nothing to silence that smart mouth of yours," he says, sounding theatrically bored with the topic at hand, but he is viciously intent on discovering just how vital it will be to dispose of the Doctor for touching what is his, once he has Sarah safely in his grasps.

"Oh, but he did _try_. Though he's been a help in some ways I suppose," Sarah coos softly, circling the stone as her one bloody hand remains on it, fingers brushing the top of it lightly. She is hypnotic to watch in the moonlight, and he wishes he could force her to see the sun in these dreams, if only to break the illusion of her beauty.

"How ever would that be?" He continues without pause, taking slow and precise steps towards her, hands itching to take hold of her before she slips away again.

"Well, for starters, I'm not so afraid of you anymore, am I?" she smiles disparagingly at him, she either knows or assumes how irate the idea makes him.

Before she can respond he is on her again, hands gripping the sides of her face tightly. She stares up at him as if in awe, her pink lips parted in surprise, and he struggles to find his words momentarily as he is once again surrounded with her delicate scent and the warmth that radiates from her, even in this diluted, dream-like version of her.

"Are you so sure, Sarah?" he growls down at her, sharp teeth flashing prominently, but of all the emotions that flicker in her eyes as she stares back, fear is not one of them.

Instead, he notes how very confused and focused she appears once again, though he has no idea what he's done to confuse her, not that he doesn't enjoy the prospect of turning her mind upside down eventually. She is staring at him with fierce intrigue, her breathing hitching, as if expectantly anticipating something that never comes.

"Does that frustrate you, Jareth? Have I taken all your fun away now? Will you take your payment and go then?" there's a ghost of disappointment in her words, and he has no idea why it would bother her if he were that easily dissuaded from her. If anything, it only makes his temper boil ever thicker, his desire to drag her by her hair to his castle and show her just how terrifying he can be.

"My darling, broken little thing," he says with mocking tenderness. "I so desperately need to remind you of who you're dealing with. Soon enough, you shall wish it were the Doctor, and not me, who haunts you."

Sarah blinks at him smartly. "The Doctor does haunt me. Did you think it was only you?" she laughs bitterly, her eyes lighting animatedly with amusement. "Oh, Goblin King. You are not alone in your quest to entrap me. In fact, I just saw the good doctor today." His grip tightens without thought, but she ignores the flicker of pain and continues to taunt him with a mesmeric grin on her lips. "I suppose it's just a matter of who succeeds first. You, or Doctor Jones. Or perhaps I'll simply devour you both, have my naughty ways with you before tearing you into tiny... little.. _bits_..."

Jade eyes flicker sharply as she utters her threat softly, and before his spark of rage at the thought of this mortal man trying to have her can morph into an outburst, she raises a hand to trace down the bridge of his nose. Jareth freezes, unsure what the bloody hell she is doing as her finger continues down his lips where she traces along his bottom one, then down his chin. She is captivated by the movement of her finger as it trails down his face, the twitch of a smile on her lips as she does this.

"Though I can't tell who will enjoy it more. You. Or me," she drawls slowly before leaning up and smashing her lips clumsily against his.

Her soft touches had sent rapture through his being, but her lips against his own make his hunger feral. It is innocent and unsure and he could care less, thoughts ceasing till there is only one; devour her. He shoves her back against the rock, pinning her with his body as he takes her lips savagely. This would work out splendidly with his plan for ensnaring her. If she ached for him already, then she'd be all too easy to toy with, to draw back here until she finally called for him. If she'd thought she could touch the flame and walk away unscathed, he would make her viciously aware that he would never let her. He grips her thighs and lifts her till she is straddling him, her body forcefully pinned against the rock behind her as he sets into a tantalizingly slow grind between her legs. She becomes instantly flushed, her body nearly vibrating and her scent delectably drenched in desire it makes his knees weak, the pull in his gut becoming painful once again as her body surrounds him. He is amazed with how very sensitive she is, the thoughts of how she will whimper and tremble beneath him when he can finally take her make his mind and reason splinter. He grinds his hips into her, his arousal pressing hard against her core and he knows that it would take just a few more strokes before she reaches climax. He wants her there, just on the edge of release, before he leaves her with that unbearable ache. He would never allow her to find release here in these dreams, he would manipulate her desire till she called for him in her own world. Just one little whisper of his name was all he needed, and if she was this deprived and hungry, it would be all to easy to send her waking from a dream with his name on her lips.

Sarah is still reeling from the first touch of his lips on hers. He tastes like ice and magic, and it doesn't burn or sicken like the touch of everyone else. But then he pushes into her and traps her against the rock, his hands sliding down her frail body and pulling her legs around his waist. At first she is merely lost in the feeling of him, the heat pooling between her legs that is so unfamiliar and enticing. But it doesn't take long for her desire to turn sour as she feels that flicker of anger light in her chest as he forces her lips apart. Without thought, she clamps down on his bottom lip till she tastes the copper of his blood on her tongue. Jareth shoves his tongue into her mouth, mixing his blood between them as their tongues tangle, his grip tightening on her, his kiss becoming suffocating and demanding and she wonders if she's somehow only excited him more rather than hurt him.

The rage continues to boil within her as he continues to trap and take from her, even as her body warms and melts to his in a delicious way she has never quite experienced before, her years of isolation leaving her with no experience or knowledge on the matter. She just couldn't help herself, and she's less irritated with her own idiocy than she is with his entitled savagery with her. She couldn't help that he was devastatingly handsome, even in the darkness of her dreams, and that for whatever reason he could touch her easily when no one else could. Despite the fact that he had hurt her several times now, his intentions to cause her harm all to clear, she'd been so curious as to what he would taste like and how it would feel. Not that he deserved more than she offered, and he clearly thought it an invitation. He was trying to dominate her, yet this was her dream, wasn't it?

Then a thought crosses her mind. He had been able to make the wall disappear behind her. If he could manipulate her dreams, couldn't she? Sarah runs with the idea and as his body conforms to her, the cold of his being permeating into her skin, the ground beneath them opens up and swallows them both into a black abyss. He latches onto her as they plummet, but she knows it is no use for him now and she laughs all the way down. She hates dreams where she falls, and she knows this will wake her, her fear of that sensation of dropping enough to bring her back from this world.

Jareth makes impact with a flat surface after Sarah practically dissipates from his grip. It is painful and he snarls as he is on his feet once again eyes searching for her, but he can no longer feel her presence in the dream anymore. She must have awoken herself, her clever maneuver as irritating as it is impressive. Something warm trickles down his chin and he swipes it away with a hand, the red of his own blood covering his fingers. The poor thing has no idea what she's done now, taking his essence into her being will leave an effect on both of them, even outside of this dream. He glares at the new space he is in and when he realizes what she's done he can't help the harsh laughter that he emits. She's sent him to an oubliette, the little harpy. What a treat indeed.

* * *

 **Please leave a review of your thoughts, I look forward to reading them so much! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying this darker tale between J/S.**

 **I do want to forewarn that this chapter is much darker, and will have themes of non-consent. I do want everyone to be aware before proceeding that this could be triggering, so proceed with caution.**

 _ **Warning: non-consent, sexual content, abuse**_

* * *

 _I will be here  
_ _When you think you're all alone  
_ _Seeping through the cracks  
_ _I'm the poison in your bones  
_ _My love is your disease  
_ _I won't let it set you free  
_ _Til I break you_

 _The Devil Within, Digital Daggers_

* * *

Sarah spent the next morning reliving the memories of her dream. She traced her lips, remembering the savage kiss he'd given her, controlling her mouth without care and the wicked way he'd ground between her legs, thoughts of how incredibly addictive such a being could be after a tryst with him. There was a flicker of something alongside the anger that she'd experienced upon kissing Jareth, and it was tempting and dangerous, and she knew that a part of her would do it again, both for her own amusement and curiosity. She enjoyed how he viewed her as an anomaly, the way he stalked her as if to simply observe her, but ready to pounce at any moment should she drop her shields. If he thought to seduce her because she was so ill-equipped to handle it, she thought she'd given him a clear enough message otherwise. She would be no one's toy, quite the opposite in fact. They just didn't know it yet.

* * *

It's been almost a week since that dream and still she has not seen or heard of him in her dreams. They are eerily quiet and empty, but she knows she is in the Labyrinth each time. She can feel his presence but he never comes to her, and she is wounded and pouts and calls out that this isn't fair, but she doesn't even receive a mocking laugh in return.

She is feeling more on edge than usual and there is a static sensation under her skin that she can't quite place. It feels like magic, or what she remembers of the sensation of being in the Underground and being surrounded by magic, but somehow it is trapped under her skin, Each day that passes the sensation grows, and it's become uncomfortable, like an itch she cannot reach. She recognizes the sensation - withdrawal. She wonders if she took something from his blood, if a piece of him came through the dream and followed her here and somehow it has turned into this poisonous need that she doesn't know how to stop or ease. It unsettles her, because he is silent, and her mind is becoming fragile once again with each night that he does not appear. She feels like a lamb being stalked by a wolf, and one of these nights he will finally feast. Her mind is in shambles, she is withering, crumbling. She pretends to eat, to laugh, to function, but the weight of the memories, this strange itch, and her empty dreams are beginning to crack her shell. She doesn't know what she will become if it fractures, but her will to care has dwindled to the very end of her wick. It would really take the smallest thing to send her off the ledge, shattering like a porcelain doll into a thousand pieces of madness.

* * *

Sarah is attending a party with her cousin, Mira. The girl had been one of the few to befriend Sarah as a child, had been equally enthused about books and fairytales as Sarah had. She'd called on Sarah that morning after settling in for the summer from college and had insisted that Sarah join her for a girls night out. Sarah couldn't decide if Karen had put Mira up to it but she wouldn't have been surprised. The two had drifted apart long before Sarah went crazy and they hadn't the slightest thing in common anymore. Mira was on her way to graduate with a degree in economics at Yale. She was pretty and popular and had a string of boyfriends even in middle school. She was always well pressed and active, just the right amount of polite and intriguing. Sarah had grown jealous of her as they'd both blossomed out of puberty, and while Mira had forgotten about stories and plays, Sarah hadn't.

Karen had managed to get her father out of the house before he found out where Sarah was going. She'd beamed at Sarah as she'd told her to have fun as she hurried out the door to dinner with her father and Sarah internally cringed as she realized this was in fact entirely Karen's doing. That woman was an utter nightmare.

Mira arrived sometime around eight thirty. She was still pretty as ever, her blond hair volumized and curled, wearing a metallic, baby pink skirt and cropped white turtleneck with flashy heels. Sarah had opted for something less flashy and vibrant, instead wearing the faux leather dress that is stuck to her like a second skin with a pair of black heels. Karen had taken her shopping the day before, trying to get her out for some fresh air. She found that the more uncomfortable Karen was with her selections the more she liked them. Mira didn't say anything about Sarah's attire and she was lucky not to have, Sarah was exceptionally edgy tonight. She'd almost taken her pills, just to ease to headache that was growing...

"You're going to love the girls," Mira babbled as they drove to the house where her friends were. "They're all so sweet. And don't worry I didn't tell them about… um, well you know," she stumbles but collects herself smoothly, ever friendly and polite.

Sarah has hardly said more than a string of words to the girl but that doesn't stop Mira from chatting incessantly about her life and her school and her boyfriends. Sarah is getting a splitting headache just listening to her. They pull up outside a large home, the block entirely quiet aside from this house, and Sarah can already hear the pulse of music and the sound of laughter and commotion that a few girls would be incapable of making alone. Mira beckons her to follow behind her as she enters the home, and Sarah is soon surrounded with the stench of watered down beer and cigarette smoke.

"Come on, Sarah, no one bites!" Mira said with a pretty laugh. Sarah smiles, because she isn't worried about that. She's a bit of a biter herself.

Mira hands her a glass of beer and begins introducing her to her friends one by one. There were so many names and faces she merely smiles mildly and follows along silently. She has never indulged in such activities, never had the chance, but she's so adversely annoyed with the scholarly and athletic bunch she's being surrounded by she's tempted to try and enjoy herself before she does something she'll regret. She downs her first glass in moments, the grotesque flavor of it almost enough to sway her away, but each glass goes down smoother than the last she soon realizes, and she's glad she didn't take her medication as the sensation of a buzz kicks in. This feeling is much more… liberating than the haze her pills induce. She soon finds herself alone in a corner, Mira running off to greet old friends, with a rather chatty boy still trying to make conversation with her after the others had given up.

"Are you enjoying the summer break yet?" He is asking, smiling. She thinks his name is Eric or Tom, she can't remember, nor does she care.

"I prefer fall," she murmurs before taking another long gulp. He doesn't seem to be bothered by her disposition and continues, his confidence almost impressive if it hadn't been equally annoying.

"So where are you going to school?"

"Taking a bit of a mental break from school," Sarah replies with a twist of her lips, her eyes off on something distant.

"That's cool," Eric continues, persistently pursuing the conversation. Sarah doesn't acknowledge him as she takes another gulp of her drink. "All these girls here, they've got their lives mapped out. Makes your head spin sometimes just talking to them," he chuckles as if this is an amusing topic. "Not you, though. You're different."

Sarah groans internally and gives him a blatantly annoyed flicker of her eyes. He's looking at her with a giant, confident smile that has no ounce of arrogance or manipulation behind it. Sarah wishes she was just another girl here, not the odd one trying to avoid conversations with everyone and feeling painfully brittle. He's pretty, in a youthful way. She hates that she would hesitate to kiss someone like him, someone who would likely never attack her, when she'd had no issue kissing _him_. It bothers her, because _he_ doesn't deserve anything from her, least of all to be the only one who can touch her without revolting her. But who has she really tested this theory with since she's been out?

"Do you want to kiss me?" Sarah asks abruptly, cutting off whatever compliment he was giving her at the moment.

"Uh, yea, totally."

He is grinning ear to ear and she feels cold as she leans into him, batting her eyelashes and smiling flirtatiously. He seems surprised, but he eagerly meets her midway, smashing his lips into her with a clumsiness so unlike Jareth's masterful movements. He tastes like beer and cologne, he is eager and appreciative, not demanding and entitled, yet her skin immediately begins to crawl and her gut churns with unease at the contact.

xxxx

 _There is a guard in white that is holding her by her arm tightly as they wait for Doctor Jones to arrive. His name is Alan, he's been at this hospital for a long time, and he has a predilection for young girls under sedation. He has been eyeing her for weeks, but he's never been assigned to her before now. The warmth of his palm on her arm makes her stomach roll uncomfortably. Doctor Jones does not allow the nurses to touch her skin to skin, they must always wear gloves. Sarah assumes it is another of his many experiments, withholding human contact from her until is starved for it. If he can't touch her, why should anyone else?_

 _Alan's thumb is stroking the skin of her arm and she begins to grow queasy, her nerves rattling with unease. Doctor Jones is usually never late, but today he is, and Alan is taking advantage of every moment they are alone. Doctor Jones enters the room seconds later and he is smiling, her folder in his hands as he takes his seat and beckons her to do the same. Her breathing calms, and she hates herself for feeling any ounce of ease at seeing the Doctor._

 _"Sarah, I believe you know Alan from previous encounters," the Doctor begins, and Sarah doesn't respond, confused as to why he is mentioning the nurse, as he never has with any other new nurse._

 _"He is going to be working more closely under me, and more importantly with you," he continues, his brown eyes peering over his cup of coffee as he takes a slow sip._

 _"Why?" she asks, forcing her words to sound relaxed and unfazed by this news._

 _Doctor Jones smiles as if he's about to give her a present. "Well, Sarah. I think you need a male figure in your life that can… round you out, personally."_

 _Sarah cracks a smile at that. She wants to toss his hot coffee in his face, make him as ugly outside as he is inside. She wants to cry. She chuckles instead._

xxxx

Sarah pulls back sharply, knowing the look of disgust is far too apparent on her face. Eric gives her a rather flustered expression, and she wonders if anyone has ever rejected his pretty, baby face.

"Are you sick?" He asks, trying to protect his ego with the chance she's just drunk.

"You have no idea," she says, a snort of a giggle escaping her lips that soon escalates into peeling laughter at how utterly broken she must truly be.

"You know I was just trying to be nice. You don't have to be such a bitch."

Sarah is smothering her lips but the laughter continues despite her efforts to regain herself. The alcohol is making her handle on control slip and she feels both desolate and deranged, her world melting away around her as she continues to hold her stomach with one hand as the cold laughs tinkle from her lips as Eric all but runs from her side to join his group.

"Crazy bitch," he mutters as he walks off, leaving her alone at last.

Sarah is still smiling animatedly, disturbingly amused with this revelation. She glances back toward the crowd of happy youths. Mira is watching her from a distance, her friends muttering as they steal glances of her. Sarah clenched her drink tightly and finishes it before stumbling outside for a breather. She's far to irritated to play nice tonight, her state far to fragile to maintain a facade. She should have never agreed to go out.

"You look pissed." A young girl is sitting on the rail of the porch smoking a cigarette and watching Sarah with a grin as she takes a drag.

"It's been a rough few weeks," Sarah says with a dismissive wave of her hand and a smile that says she's over it. She plops on the rail next to the girl, crossing her ankles and swinging them as she closes her eyes and inhales the summer air, the moonlight feeding her like a life source.

"These usually help," the girl says, handing Sarah one of smokes. Sarah stares at it for a brief second before taking it, letting the girl light her and inhaling the smoke into her lungs. She chokes on it and frowns at the disgusting taste, but the girl is chuckling at her, shaking her head.

"I thought everyone our age smoked," she said. "I'm Kate."

"Sarah." She takes another drag and it's less awful this time but it still burns uncomfortably and she wonders how anyone could enjoy this.

Her mind flickers back to her memory, and it doesn't disgust her as much now, reflecting back, but it does make her insidiously enraged. Alan was the only one allowed to ever touch her for the next year after that session. He was never left alone with her, of course. Doctor Jones was very strategic with his game, running a few minutes late here and there, just enough time for the disgust to grow inside her like a festering scab. Alan was still the only one who had laid a hand on her by the time she'd left St. Agnes's, and Sarah could still feel the clamminess of his hands, could still smell the sweat on him and the disturbing look in his eyes each time he thought he would get a little further than last time. Doctor Jones had been conditioning her, and she'd known, she'd always known...

They sit in silence until Kate's smoke runs out, and she flicks the bud off the ledge before returning to the party. Sarah continues to finish hers, and she feels drunk, a whirl of senses that are all muted and moving at the same time.

Mira is calling for her soon after and before she knows it she's in the car on her way home. Mira is silent beside her the entire ride home and she couldn't be more happy about it. When she pulls herself from the car she waves goodbye with a chipper grin before twirling her way up the hill of her house and all the way to her room, giggling and stumbling the whole way. She collapses in her bed and doesn't even struggle to find sleep this time.

* * *

Jareth appears before her in the corridor she's lingering in, but she doesn't take notice at first. He is watching her as she is laying across a slab of stone, arms stretched out over her head, black hair spilling over the stone in thick tendrils. He approaches quietly, observing the dress she's wearing that is hugging every inch of her, something deceptively erotic for someone so innocent. He wants to rip it from her with his claws before burying himself deep within her, but he has no more patience to spare for these dreams of hers. He left her aching without him for nearly a week, his blood in her system working as a drug, one that would make her experience levels of withdrawal from the potency of magic in his blood. It awakened her own magic, and she will grow desperate for more if not replenished, or she'll merely get worse before she gets better. It honestly saved him so much time, the process of seducing her till she called out his name, though much more enticing, would have been more tedious and unpredictable. The only negative side of this otherwise pleasing way of coercion is that he can sense her emotions more explicitly, even from the Underground. He can almost hear them like an echo in the Underground.

There is one that troubles him tonight, and that echo is the slightest flicker of desire she had recently experienced before being submerged in repugnant disgust. He can't imagine what would cause such a vicious reaction but he is as disturbed by how much he cares as he is by the possibilities.

He wants nothing more than to end these games so the real ones can begin. He can still taste her on his tongue and his desire to possess her is beginning to interfere with his reality. He can't sleep without seeing her, without hearing her laugh, tasting her scent. He's becoming unstable, his mind warping with his obsession, so much so that his council is beginning to whisper of their mad king, the rumors like nails on a chalkboard as they float through his halls, and he really doesn't want a bloodbath on his hands if he loses his temper once again. He'd had to make a few examples of those who speak ill of their king openly, and he was a theatrical executioner. He needs to end this game before he snaps again.

He trails a clawed hand along the stone as he begins to circle her, her eyes finally flickering to him. They are glossy and muted, sapphires behind a sheen of glass. Her lips are parted in the softest smile as she stares up at him, looking childishly pleased to see him.

"You're late," she coos, stretching her limbs till back arches off the stone, the leather on her body morphing to each curve so enticingly as she does so, he has to snap his eyes away from her briefly to reign in the depraved thoughts trailing through his mind.

"I am never late, _precious_."

She sits up then, curling her feet around to her side, leaning on her hands till she is perched toward him like a cat.

"Did you miss me?" she asks, grinning as usual, but there is something dulling her usual vibrancy and whit.

He sneers at the question, because he did, and he is unsettled that this being that is so beneath him in every way has captured his attention in addition to his ire. He continues to circle her menacingly slowly, her eyes following him. He can smell liquor and smoke on her, the scent masking her already diluted and decadent aroma, and he despises it.

"I have plenty of other pets to keep me company when I'm away from you, my dear Sarah." He smirks like a bastard when a flicker of hurt passes through her eyes, but just as quickly it is gone, and he feels empty rather than pleased.

"What do you want then?" she retreats from him, sliding off the other end and walking off, her steps heavier and clutzy as she does so. Her words are sullen, her bottom lip pouting as if he'd somehow offended her.

"I want what is mine," he says, his words sharpening. Her aura is much more erratic and unstable than before, and he is so pleased she has been suffering from his blood, weakening in mind and resolve.

"If it is yours than must you really ask for it? Why not just take it?" she asks, a faint flicker of irritation in her words behind the jaded smile she flashes him before turning her back on him.

Jareth freezes at her words, amazed she is so stupid as to dare him to do anything. His temper flickers and he traces across to her till he's just behind her. She doesn't make any motion to face him, despite the fact that his breath now brushes past her neck gently.

"We made a deal, Sarah," he runs a hand down the length of her back, savoring the slight shiver that follows his touch.

"Yes, we did," she agrees, her words montone and dry. "So ask for what you want, and then leave me alone."

His hands clench. She thought to command him about? She was nothing, a mere human, a nuisance. He shoves her forward, a wall forming in front of her that hadn't been there before, and she hits it hard enough to bruise her pretty face. He pushes into her from behind, his entire being smashing her against the stone wall.

"I so very dislike being ordered about, precious," there is a rattle to his words, a seething she should have been afraid of, but she is so tired and out of sorts she just doesn't care.

"Yet, here you are, still _bothering_ me," she bites back, grinning as best she can with one cheek pressed against the wall.

He growls deep and low before he moves to pin her hands above her head, using his foot to kick her legs wide apart, his body pressing against hers tightly, his arousal becoming noticeably prominent against the curve of her ass. Sarah almost laughs at this unexpected change of direction. Even in her state she can still pluck out his temper in moments.

"And I dislike being shoved about," she hisses with a venomous smile, jerking viciously at her wrists, but his grip is unmoving.

"Oh, but I think you enjoy this," he grinds his hips into her, pressing her firmly into the stone as she feels every inch of him, her breath spiking at the flutter in her gut, the pooling between her legs that is instant. "I think you push me to see how far I will go with you." He ground against her once more, slow and precise. "Do you want me to break you, Sarah? You merely have to ask."

He moved away just enough to jerk her back around to face him and he pins her once again, the length of his body flush with her soft curves. She is still spinning from the movement when his lips descend on hers. It's just as before, demanding and merciless as he priest her lips apart and forces his tongue past them till he's tangled with her own. He pulls back sharply, eyes flickering black and anger so sharp she can feel it in the air like a blade on her skin.

"Little Sarah," he nearly whispers, brushing his nose along hers, "Have you been dallying with a boy in the Aboveground?" His tone is so mocking, his emphasis on the word boy all to clear, despite how utterly icy he looks.

"I do have other pets to keep me company when I'm away from you, Jareth," she purrs, her own malicious smirk in place now.

Jareth is silent for several long moments, and she can't decipher what the hell he's thinking behind the ice in his features. There is an edge to the air she's never felt before, something terrifying and she loves that she has unsettled him so greatly. She didn't believe Jareth capable of jealousy, but he was arrogant and clearly possessive. A weakness to exploit. Instead of an outburst as she expected, he merely keeps her pinned in place, a harsh chuckle her only response as he suddenly pulls away, letting her stumble to the ground.

"Before we continue this delicious game, my precious thing, I need you to forfeit what you took from me."

His arrogance has returned and he is looking at her as if he owns her, as if she is a puppet playing into his games, and Sarah begins to splinter. Perhaps it was the alcohol or the feeling of chaos and the itch in her bones these past few days, but she is on the last tether she has.

And that look he is giving her... He didn't miss her. He mocked her, he taunted her, he hurt her and then he used her for his own pleasure. Perhaps she'd always wanted him to be obsessed with her, to be something more than life, greater than the evils of her reality, even he was his own kind of evil. A treat to toy with for a girl with nothing left but madness and memories. But he wanted nothing of her but whatever powers she'd taken from him. In a different reality, she would have given it to him. She would have done away with him and moved on with life. But she has nothing, she is nothing, if not the ability to exact some kind of retribution for what she's become.

"Never," she says, her voice low and dark, eyes finally flickering amidst the fog of inebriation.

Jareth looks almost… shocked. There is no arrogant smirk or viscous mocking, no yelling or pain. He stares at her for the briefest second in surprise. The ringing in her ears returns, anger unlike anything she's ever felt blooming in her chest.

"Now go away. I don't want to see you anymore," she hisses, shoving against him. Jareth snatches her wrist, grip tightening painfully, his sharp teeth flashing as he practically breaks her poor arm, his temper finally flooding the air around them. Sarah wants him to know he has no effect on her, that he can't intimidate her, but her head hurts and her heart is bleeding and she hates him, hates him, hates him….

"Sarah," there is something dangerously soft about his voice, but it only angers her more.

"Do you know the sound electricity makes when it floats through your body?" Sarah asks, and there no inflection to her words at all, she is ice cold.

"What?" He snarls in confusion. He has almost no control left in him, he should have left by now…

"It's a ringing in your ears. Sometimes I can't tell if it's real or just a memory of that noise," she continues without notice or care of how painful his grip is. "I'm afraid I won't survive it, the memories."

Sarah's eyes are hollow, as if she's no longer present, and his fury is wavering into something unnerved by this shadow of a girl and the dark references she is making, they make no sense to him. She was supposed to crave him after ingesting his blood, she should have been eager to touch him to draw relief from him. Instead she'd become… desolate. He could smell it on her.

"Memories cannot kill you, Sarah," he mocks, but he is unsure just what memories she is holding onto.

"They might in my condition," she says with a withering smile.

Jareth's stomach is twisting painfully and he doesn't know why, but her words are haunting and he can see something wild and jagged in her, something she has hidden very well until now. Sarah sighs, flashing him brilliant jade, a vision of something very real, and very broken, and in her next thought she is falling, falling, falling.

* * *

Karen drops Sarah off at her second appointment with the Doctor, and Sarah is the lowest she has been since she left the hospital. She can't shake the weight of something awful off her shoulders and she wonders what the hell Jareth has done to her. She wears a mask of indifference as she enters the doctor's home but she isn't sure how convincing it is. She compensates with her attire and her still present disgust for the doctor.

She's wearing another black dress with black boots with an oversized denim jacket hanging loosely off her shoulders. Sarah lounges back in a chair, letting her legs swing off the side of it as she waits for him to begin, dry grin on her lips, deadly confidence in her eyes.

Doctor Jones seems to notice this change in her. He is quick to frown, cheeks ringing red already just from observing her, and Sarah is so very distracted with her thoughts of her last few encounters with Jareth that she doesn't take note of how very rabid the doctor's eyes are today.

"How are you, Doctor?" She asks, words as smooth as honey despite how little she's trying at the moment.

"Very well, Sarah. Thank you for asking. Would you like some tea? I've just made a kettle," he asks exceptionally pleasantly as he enters a kitchen off the hall, calling back to her as he takes off.

Doctor Jones returns with a tray of tea glasses, cream and sugar, and proceeds to mix his glass as he watches her with hooded eyes, something she doesn't notice as she makes her own cup. As she sips on it she reclines and gives him a full view of how utterly unfazed by him she is, her thoughts elsewhere.

"How are you feeling, Sarah?" He asks, flipping open his notepad. Sarah rolls her eyes pointedly.

"Better than yesterday," she drones, taking another sip of the hot liquid.

"I see your attitude hasn't improved since our last session. Are you sleeping?"

Sarah blinks up at him for the first time since she arrived, his odd, monotone timber suddenly catching her ear. He is smiling faintly, relaxed even. He's not tense in the slightest and Sarah's eyes narrow on him as she inspects this behavior.

"Yes," she replies slowly, shifting so she can stand now and face the Doctor from behind her chair. The good doctor is watching her silently, lips twitching.

"Any more dreams, Sarah? Has your Goblin King continued to terrify you?" He asks, standing as well and closing his notebook slowly. Sarah's eyes narrow on him before flitting across to his desk where that brass letter opener had sat before.

"No, no dreams," she replies, taking a few measured steps toward the desk.

Doctor Jones follows her movements, putting just a few feet away from her.

"Well, I suppose that just leaves it up to me then."

Sarah glares from him to the desk, and she sees the gleam of the blade under some papers. She tenses, watching him with narrow eyes, before darting to the desk with outreached hands.

His body hits hers before she hits the desk and they tumble to the ground, the Doctor landing on top of her and using the momentum to grab at her wrists as she attempts to claw at him viciously. Sarah feels that helpless fear strike her chest like a blade as she stares up at him, her feeble muscles no match for him.

"Get off me, you son of a bitch," she hisses, venom pulsating through her as disgust and panic swept through her, her mind turning to ragged edges.

"Now, Sarah, is that any way to speak to your Doctor?" He asks quietly. His chest is rising and falling quickly, and there's a sick light of excitement in his eyes as he towers over her. "You know, I had such high hopes for you. You were my favorite patient. But then you turned into a cocky little cunt, didn't you?"

He moves then to kneel between her knees, shoving her thighs apart to make room for him. She wants to vomit, she wants to scream, she is paralyzed and can't seem to do anything as he sneers down at her with disgusting delight.

"You think you will ever be rid of me, Sarah? I own you, and every broken piece of what's inside of you," he grates through clenched teeth, his face turning even more red than she's ever seen it, his features morphing to that of a lunatic, one she'd always known was just under the surface.

"You can't… do this...Karen…" Sarah struggles beneath him, trying to keep herself lucid. The doctor straightens up and pulls a syringe out of his jacket pocket.

"What was I supposed to do, Sarah? You jumped at me, started attacking me for no reason. I had to sedate you," he grabs her arm roughly, pointing the needles downward at her. "Don't worry though, you'll be coherent enough to remember your first, Sarah." He is smiling sickly, and she sees red, rage seething past her being, the ringing in her ears nearly drowning him out.

She has to do something, has to save herself from this. He's unbuckling his pants and her skin feels as though it's been dipped in battery acid, every part of her burning and screaming in disgust and horror. She opens her mouth to scream for help.

"Jar…" Doctor Jones' hand clamps over her mouth painfully.

"No one's gonna hear you scream, kid." He laughs like a lunatic and Sarah's mind goes blank.

* * *

Jareth is sitting amidst a meeting he has no interest in. He's lounging in his throne and watching the other members of his council argue over something he's already forgotten, his mind wandering to the girl who'd dismissed him not once but twice now from her dreams. She was much sharper than she'd been as a child, and she risked his temper without care, toying with him with delight. Yet she'd left him feeling uneasy this time, the memory of her eyes in those last seconds still haunting him every time he closed his own, her ominous last words. _In my condition_ … what the bloody hell did that mean? She should have been craving him by now, his blood in her nearly gone now, she should have been desperate to be near him, been malleable, easily manipulated. She should have given in to him, should have given him her powers, then he could have focused on getting her to call for him so he could drag her here along with his triumph over her.

Instead she'd sent him back with a sense of discontent, one he rarely felt. She'd gotten underneath his skin like poison. He should have been more merciless when she'd been a child, should have snuffed her out of his world when he'd had the chance.

He was debating what to do with her next, how to speed this game along, when the feeling of pure and petrifying fear flooded his senses. It wasn't his own, it was like a calling in his blood. It was so chaotic and bone chilling he nearly jolted out of his seat. It took him a second to realize it was Sarah, his last bits of blood in her calling to him with the echo of her emotions. He sat there, unsure what the bloody hell to do, the sensation lighting the madness in his mind like a match. It was physically draining to pop into the Aboveground without a wisher calling on him, even if he could find her easily while his blood was still in his system. He'd barely be able to stand for hours afterwards if he did. Not to mention it was forbidden to interfere in the lives of those in another realm, even Fae had laws that protected those miscreants. The emotion changed, a sense of utter loss before it went bone-chillingly silent. Sarah's emotions ceased to exist, it was as if she weren't… alive.

Jareth would later tell himself his next actions were entirely selfish, that he couldn't lose what Sarah housed, nor would he be denied his desire to assuage his maddening temper on her for everything she'd put him through. But his reasons would matter so little when the dust settled...

As soon as he thought of the action, he was immediately standing in a musty, ill-lit room with ungodly furniture and muted browns everywhere. He was standing over a middle aged man and a dark haired girl struggling on the ground, the man's pants undone, hand pressed firmly over her mouth, a needle in the man's hand as he tried to pierce her with it as she struggled beneath him.

Sarah's jade eyes flashed up at him, and there was no thought to his next movements. He grabbed the man by his collar and flung him back into the wall, breaking several bookshelves with the force of impact. The man immediately tried to right himself, his red face glaring up at the intruder, only to shrink back in fear like the coward he was. Jareth stalked toward the man who now stared petrified and mumbling from where he was on the ground.

"I do hope you are this Doctor Jones I've been hearing so much about," he said with all the amusement of the devil on his lips. "Because we're going to have so much fun catching up."

Jareth's entire being was morphing into something more demon than Fae, his teeth razor sharp behind a salacious smirk.

"Sarah darling, I'm cashing in on my payment. Say nothing if you object," Jareth spoke with a chipper and insidious tone.

He waited all of two seconds before he sent the his payment to a cell deep within his dungeon, the Doctor's screams echoing in the room as he disappeared. Jareth took several deep breaths, straightening his gloves as he tried to reign himself in before he forgot the girl sitting on the floor behind him and followed behind that bastard. He turned on Sarah still glowering darkly, his features more sharp than they'd ever been before, his magic rippling from him in waves.

She was sitting now, staring emptily about, and she was… laughing. Tears rolled down her face in steady streams, and she was laughing hysterically as she sobbed.

"Sarah," he spoke her name softly, unsure what was happening, why she wasn't responding as he'd expected her to, simply being afraid or grateful or both. Her laughter doesn't stop, her hands gripping the sides of her head as she continues to cackle and cry, her eyes finally snapping up to him.

"Did you miss me?" She asked between peels of laughter, and he frowns at the odd question, realizing she'd asked it every time she's seen him in her dreams. As if it mattered…

Jareth had meant to leave her here, taking the Doctor alone, because he knew somewhere in his mind the consequences if he didn't leave her behind. But he didn't even bother trying to stop himself as he went to her and scooped her into his arms with ease, her body more frail than in her dreams, her beauty and scent even more intoxicating. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, locking eyes with him as the tears rolled past her bright smile.

"You're much prettier in this dream," she giggles at the end of her words, and he can see that Sarah is nowhere inside that warped head, her psyche completely locked away somewhere safe from the event that almost transpired. If he hadn't come...

He knows he will regret his next action with all his being, but he traces back to the Underground, clutching her tightly in his arms and taking her with him, a thirst for blood so thick, he fears he might just lose his mind with her.

* * *

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I know it got a bit dark, but I promise it won't be so for the next chapter. I would really love any and all feedback, it keeps me going! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**First off, apologies this took SO long to get up. March really isn't my month apparently, it's taken me a few weeks just to get a night to sit down and make any edits! Now that that part of my calendar is over though, I do anticipate continuing to post as often as I can get these completed. For anyone patiently waiting on my other story, Immortal Ties, I do intend to have a chapter up by next week as well.**

 **Warning: darker themes below**

 **I own nothing of the Labyrinth of J. Henson's work**

* * *

 _Honey, I wanna break you_  
 _I wanna throw you to the hounds,_  
 _I gotta hurt you, I gotta hear from your mouth_  
 _Boy, I wanna taste you  
_ _I wanna skin you with my tongue_

 _Desire, Meg Meyers_

* * *

Sarah is dreaming again. But it isn't like the others. She's not running, she's not even in the Labyrinth. She wakes on blood red sheets, shrouded in a massive canopy that hangs over a bed that could easily fit eight people on it. She is nearly naked, her dress and jacket missing from her, and a thin silk sheet is tangled around her, as if she'd been sleeping restlessly. She sits up and observes the room, wondering where she is and what she's doing here. It is clearer than her usual dreams, there is no mist or moonlight. The room is dark aside from a massive fireplace that casts orange hues about the otherwise cold and stone set space.

She stands and drapes the silk sheet around her as she begins to pace about the space. It is a bedroom, but large enough to be a studio apartment. There's a small bar and a lounging area, a fur rug on the floor and a desk that is meticulously organized. It's all black furniture with silver accents, heavily coated in the scent of leather and magic. It's that scent that sparks her intrigue. If there is magic here then why can't she sense Jareth? And why was she not in the Labyrinth? When had she fallen asleep in the first place? Sarah tried to think back over her day and couldn't place the events in order. The last thing she recalled was walking into Doctor Jones' office and then... nothing. She felt odd, there was a cloud in her head but she felt as if she had slept for days and the itch in her bones was gone at last.

She is staring at the flames motionless, pondering all these things when she hears the sound of someone approaching, the clicking of boots growing louder. She isn't sure if she should hide or run, but she decides that neither would be enlightening or entertaining. Instead she scurries back on the bed, keeping herself covered in the sheet around her as she crawls to kneel on the center of it.

A large wooden door swings open and a sullen looking Goblin King barrels through, looking as if he's just spent the last of his patience elsewhere, and she silently wonders if he would be even more foul than before, a theory she was sure to enjoy testing. Sarah gave him a blatant once over, marveling that he was not shrouded in shadows and mist for the first time during these encounters. If she'd thought him handsome in her dreams before, she'd been sorely mistaken. He was devastating. He was pale as moon dust, his hair so lightly golden it appeared white in the shadows, and his mismatched eyes were iridescently vibrant, making his sharp features all the more terrifying and alluring. He was wearing a loose black blouse that revealed most of his chest, tight black pants and tall boots. It was much less regal that what she usually saw him in in her dreams and yet she found him even more enticing like this, her body already thrumming with excitement that it was she who got to play with such a beautiful beast. She waited, bright grin plastered on her face, for him to notice her, but he seemed to not realize he was in a dream with her yet.

He made it several feet into the room, his direction clearly intended for the bar top at the other end of it, when his feet halted and he froze. He turned, ever so slowly, as his eyes pivoted toward his bed. Sarah gave him the most ridiculously pleased grin, the hand not holding the sheet around her raising to wave at him as if amenably excited to see him. His entire demeanor was frozen like a statue, eyes flickering with an emotion she could not read, the ghost of a smile spreading on his already malicious lips. Her eyes widened at the wickedly sharp teeth he flashed, even more chilling than usual. He straightened, his eyes inspecting her sharply, as if he hadn't expected her and found her presence ever so amusing.

"Well, aren't you pleasant company these days," she said finally, her usual velvety and jeering tone in full flush. She even let her lips pout just so at his rigid response, not at all pleased he was acting so surprised to see her in her own dream.

"I hadn't been expecting you to be up," Jareth finally says, and there is a thickness to his words that she'd never heard before, as if it isn't being filtered through her dream, and she practically shivers at the sound of it. A flicker of something wicked flashes across his features as he takes a step towards her. "But now that you're awake..." He is instantly razors and danger, but Sarah doesn't bother being unsettled by his odd behavior, she knew exactly how to wake up if necessary.

"Awake?" she laughs. "I thought I was the mad one," she says as she relaxes back onto the bed, resting on one hand and feigning her own disinterest to the situation unfolding.

"Ah, are we dreaming, _little Sarah_?" He asks, and there's a tinge of something dark to his tone that makes her brow raise, curiosity now growing. He is enjoying the flashes of doubt in her eyes, the way her mind is trying make sense of the world around her, yet she is still taunting him with her unreserved confidence, as if she can escape him at any moment. His blood warms as he imagines the fear in her eyes when he shatters her poor naive defenses, but he imagines watching her little dream world crumble around her will be all the more delectable if he toys with her first. "How very forward of you to dream yourself into my bed. If I didn't know better, I'd consider this an invitation."

"Is this your room? Perhaps I am getting to curious about you to be dreaming myself into your room in such a state," Sarah continues, ignoring his predatory grin, waving at her lack of clothing, her tone full of amusement rather than admonishment. "Then again, you've proven to be quite entertaining, though a little cranky."

"Oh, my darling little creature," his words filled with mocking sympathy. He lets out a low chuckle, one that sends chills through her as he stares at her as if he pities her.

Jareth moves toward the bed with inhuman speed, one hand snatching out at her and deftly wrapping around her ankle before she has the chance to draw back. With one fluid tug, Sarah is pulled to the edge of the bed, falling back onto the sheets and losing what little coverage she had with the movement. Jareth is staring down at her, his eyes a dangerous sparkling glare as he inspects her slowly, her legs pulled apart around his hips though he keeps every part of him from touching her as he leans over her menacingly. Sarah can't remove her eyes from his, as if entranced by the strange pair. Her body jolts with electricity when the back of an icy hand begins to brush down her neck in an almost tender caress. She shudders, breath spiking as she forces her back into the bed to keep from arching into the touch.

Jareth stares in amazement at the way her chest flutters in response to the erratic pulse within her, her body so reactive it is intoxicating to watch, the reality of it even more delectable than the dream. He flips his hand over just as his fingers brush past her collar bones, watching as the sharpened claws on his hand leave a trail of subtle red lines on her tender flesh. His pressure increases as he continues down toward her navel, the skin reddening and risen, so close to breaking and releasing ribbons of crimson from within. It would take so little to watch her bleed... A subtle whimper pulls him from his thoughts as she squirms to pull away from the sting of his touch. Jareth scowls down at her, anger erupting in heated waves as his mind rights itself again. She would suffer more than a few scratches when he was done with her. He could hardly wait till the time came, but for now he had to refrain, at least until they'd settled matters. He winds a hand in her onyx hair and pulls her up into a sitting position with a harsh jolt. Her face is inches from his own now and he inhales her scent deeply, a bolt of lust singeing the blood in his veins. Despite the proximity of his sneer, her eyes are riveted on his other hand, at the deadly glint of his nails that are no longer hidden behind leather gloves. He smirks, pleased to see a flicker of unease float past her jade eyes and the blood rushes painfully to his cock as he trails a claw down her cheek, forcing her eyes back toward his own.

"That tongue of yours is bound to leave you bruised, you stupid girl." Jareth's grip tightens till a wince flashes across her face.

Jareth jerks her into him then, and her body melds against his own. The contact is making her body practically vibrate, which is becoming more unsettling by the second, every part of her feeling overly sensitive and electric. It felt... different than before, and she is growing uncertain that her mind is not playing tricks on her somehow. He traces his nose along her cheek before bringing his lips just above her own, so close she is already angling into him expectantly, even if she knows she should pull back and claw to get free of his grip.

"You smell… divine," he rumbles, a huskiness to his words that sends shivers down her spine that she can't stifle this time. He looks as though he's the one in a trance now, his eyes fixated on her as he leans in again, and she thinks he is about to kiss her when his face suddenly tightens, turning cold and disinterested before he releases her abruptly. He stands just inches from her, the iciness of his being radiating onto her skin like a touch though he keeps himself towering over her as he conjures a pair of gloves and dons them absentmindedly, his eyes fixated on the leather pieces.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he says as he finishes, his eyes lighting once again as he glances back at her with an amused smirk. "We have time, after all."

Sarah blinks back at him, her mind reeling with both curiosity and the sudden ferocity of desire pooling inside of her from nothing more than a few touches, ones that left stinging red lines down her chest. What the hell did that mean? And why did she feel so unsettled and edgy? It felt out of control, and much too… real. Panic sets into her chest and her instincts urge her to scuttle away like a terrified mouse, but she stays planted, eyes locked on him, a mask of bemusement set like stone on her face.

"How did you get me here?" she hums prettily, daring him to confirm or deny what's been done. His smirk only widens.

"Why, Sarah, have you finally caught up? I thought you would be more pleased when you came to your senses." He is ambivalent, his demeanor both mocking and pleased.

"And why would you ever think that?" Her words dip to a dangerous huskiness that is both excited and furious as her mind accepts where she is, and with who.

"For saving you, of course," he replies with an air of admonishment, as if he is genuinely displeased she has forgotten already. Sarah stairs at him incredulously. What the hell was he talking about?

"Saving me?" Sarah asks, her mind starting to ache as she tries to sort out what's happening, her eyes beginning to fog with confusion and fear and anger building beneath her surface in a slow melting pot of delusion.

Sarah pulls up the last thought before her mind goes fuzzy, the doctor had been in an odd mood, she'd felt unsafe... The memories flood her like damaged photographs, something detached and foreign to her that does not feel like a memory of her own. Oh yes, that bastard had tried to rape her. Sarah is scowling as the memories come flooding back, bile rising in her throat in response but he remains silent and unmoving as she processes her situation.

"Ah, yes. And how is the good Doctor fairing?" she gives him a decadent lilt, a smile masking a feral rage in her eyes that he only sees the slightest glimpes of, but the ferocity of it makes the pull in his gut and the already painful desire flare at the sight of it.

"That's not really any of your concern now, precious." He is cold in his response, and Sarah wants to claw at him, that he should think the doctors demise is his to own. She will never secede such a prize, no matter the cost be to her - but that was a matter to resolve after she maneuvered through her own escape.

"Then do explain why I am here, Jareth," she coos sweetly, mockingly. "Is it your blood in me? I took your blood, and now I'm trapped here with you, is that it?"

He sneers down at her. "Don't remind me of one of your _many_ offenses, precious. Not when I have you nearly naked beneath me."

His words send a titillating spike of heat through her, despite the rattle in his chest as he spoke that promised something less than pleasurable. She relaxes beneath him, placing her palms on the edge of the bed and leaning toward him now, giving him a dazzling grin to taunt his temper, trying to calm her mind as she sorts a way out of this. _Keep him calm, keep him distracted, find a way home..._

"Then why am I here?" she presses.

"Because you have something of mine, and I can't decide if I want to kill you or keep you once I take it back," he says, his eyes darkening once again, his words serenely calm.

"Should I be flattered?" she laughs. There is a flash of something in his eyes that looks like contempt, and perhaps a flicker of unease at her question.

"You should be _careful_ , my precious thing," he says in a hushed warning, the vibration of magic suddenly misting over her skin, that same darkness she recognized all to well from her dreams, though in reality it is truly terrifying to experience in such proximity.

"Careful? Why, Jareth, would I ever be _careful_ , when I'd much rather be reckless?"

If she had any senses, she isn't sure she would have survived this long, because reason makes you cautious and caution in a situation like this is the difference between life and entrapment. Sarah lets her mind unhinge, allowing all the unwise thoughts of manipulation and distraction unravel until she is no longer afraid of the consequences. She leans up just enough to run her tongue over his lips with slow and seductive intent. Jareth is frozen above her, eyes blackening in response before brutally smashing his lips into hers. His body is pressing into hers till she is pinned back on the bed and his hands tighten around her wrists with a force that will bruise but she continues regardless, fighting against his hold till she is able to wrap her legs around his waist and push up into him with what little space she has to move. He groans against her lips, something that makes her body clench with excitement as he thrusts back into her. He is suffocating her, the pressure of him above her is nearly crushing as his control seems to slip second by second. Sarah wriggles beneath him, her motions seeming enthusiastic until his grip on her wrists finally lessens and Sarah is able to wriggle her hands free while he's distracted. She shoves on his chest as hard as she can manage, his body shifting to the side as she maneuvers to straddle him now. He seems so enraptured with the vision of her nearly naked and straddling him, his hands moving to grip her hips and the pressure of his grip makes her thankful he'd donned his gloves once more, her skin prickling at the thought of the claws beneath them. Sarah widens her taunting smile as she moves her hands slowly up his nearly bare chest, ignoring the liquid pooling between her legs, noting how her body trembles at all the contact. Somewhere in her mind she's sure she's becoming over-sensitized with all the physical contact.

"You know, Goblin King," she says in a seductive tinge, "I think you've had quite enough tonight."

Sarah pushes off him then, gracefully straightening her hair as she strolls from the bed to the center of his room with an air of boredom as she turns back toward him, lips pulled back over her teeth as she meets his dark gaze. He's standing now looking completely unfazed by what she'd done to him and just feet from her. She'd never even heard him move. _Dangerous_...

"Isn't kidnap illegal, even for a king? I imagine you wouldn't have toyed with my dreams for so long if it weren't. Surely higher beings have rules that forbid them from tampering with the human world," she said, her demeanor languid and taunting as she begins to circle him, his eyes sharpening dangerously in response to her question. "Ah, so it is. How long do you have till you have to return me before you get in trouble then?"

"How presumptive of you, Sarah darling, to think you understand the laws of my kind in any way," he says, turning from her dismissively to make himself a drink at his bar top. "As I said, I haven't decided what I'll do with you, but I am fond of the idea of entrapping you for eternity for my own amusement." He gives a gleaming smirk that rattles something dark and furious inside her.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to play with strays?" she asks sweetly, "They can make a mess of things."

"What will you do, little cat? Claw and bite me? I think you'll only find how much I enjoy that," his mercurial eyes heat for the briefest of moments, his movements languid and unperturbed as he approaches her once more with that arrogant smirk, as if she had no chance against him in this. Sarah curls her lips, the light of retribution igniting in her eyes. If he wanted to make this a game, then by all means.

Jareth had to admit, if she had any ounce of awareness of the entity inside of her, he may have been alarmed at the destruction she would bring to his castle. But he could handle a human, a mad one at that.

"Hmm I think I can convince you to release me," she purrs.

"Is that so? You always were overly confident in your abilities, for someone so lacking." His tone is mocking, laughing at her, even as his own irritation with the situation is mounting. He's beyond a place of impatience and sitting on the brink of doing something rash if this little mishap is not resolved soon.

"I am not the same person I was when you met me, Jareth. In fact, I'm hardly the same person I was when I woke up," Sarah laughs to herself as he watches her pace his room. "I'll make you wish you'd never met me," she says as she smiles with all the smarts of a challenge on her face.

"If it were possible for me to grant such a wish, I'd have done it myself, _Sarah darling_ ," he almost snarls and the ferocity of his hate and rage fills her with a mix of emotions she cannot untangle at the moment. She approaches him slowly, without hesitation and runs a bold finger down his chest as her eyes lock on his.

"It must madden you, that someone so _insignificant_ has turned your world upside down," she mocks serenely.

If she'd thought she'd rile him up, she'd been mistaken. He smiles rather scathingly back at her before moving to seat himself on the leather couch, a hand gesturing for her to join him. Sarah instead sits across from him, letting her bare legs drape of the arm of the leather chair she sat in now. His gaze followed the length of her legs, his feral smirk only growing like a beast watching his next meal with anticipation. Sarah keeps her eyes and breathing level. It was taking everything in her to keep from darting away as she wished to. She really had no idea how she was going to get out of this place, and his deceptively calm demeanor would surely unravel sooner rather than later, judging by how easily she seemed to work him up.

"I have a proposition for you, Sarah." He watches her intensely as he speaks.

"Ah, how exciting. What game will it be this time?" she retorted, twirling a strand of hair in her fingers lazily to avoid appearing curious as to his next move.

Jareth flashes sharp teeth as if humored. He conjured two glasses onto the table before them, and her eyes were riveted to the red liquid inside both of them with piqued interest.

"One of these glasses is a simple wine, the second is my blood. Should you drink the wine, you will live to see another day in the Aboveground. Should you drink my blood," he licked his canines with possessive intent before he continued his sentence, "You will forfeit my gift, and remain in the Underground, forever."

Sarah raised a brow at him, lips pulled back in an astonished grin.

"How do I know they're not both blood?"

"I suppose you don't," he replies candidly, as if he couldn't care less which way the results ended up.

Sarah taps her chin in thought, exaggerating her intent look as she studied the glasses. For all she knew, this was her only way to escape him. She also recognized that this was equally as much his only way of keeping her, a game of chance for escape or entrapment. She wondered as to how long he had before he'd be forced to return her to the Aboveground regardless. Had he really broken a rule to bring her here? Why would he do something so careless after all this time? She wonders just how faulty his own interest in her has become to make him so careless, and just how easily that interest will be to manipulate if necessary.

"And if I do become trapped down here, what exactly does that entail?" She asks as she leans back into her chair, keeping her air of confidence despite the way her gut is squirming and her mind is fighting to shut down and hide.

"Anything I desire it to," he states flatly, his cold and malicious demeanor the only thing she can see as she studies him intently.

"And if the wine? I can return home?"

Jareth's smile was still unchanging, his eyes piercing through he as sat across from her with clear anticipation.

"Of course," he says in a slow and clipped tone.

Sarah narrows her eyes on him before snatching the goblet to her left quickly and chugging the contents without any hesitation. The red juices trickled over the edges and run down her chin and onto her bare chest, running between the peaks of her breasts till it saturates the lace of her pale pink bra. She doesn't stop till the goblet is empty, then chucks it to the side with a loud clatter of metal against stone. Staring triumphantly at Jareth, she trails a finger across the droplets along her breasts and licks the red wine off her index finger slowly as he watches, body tense and desire sparkling clearly in his eyes despite the scowl gracing his lips now.

"Your wine is delicious," she finally says with a giggle, reclining slowly once again.

The look of savagery flashes through his eyes as his smirk turned into a deadly glint of teeth.

"So brave, little Sarah. I wonder how far you will go in my other games for you," he muses almost quietly.

"You said I could go home," she reminds him with an equally dark and twisted hum of triumph still on her lips.

"I wouldn't gloat, my darling pet. We never determined _when_ I would return you." He cocks his head in a mocking display of disappointment. "I always did enjoy your rash and impulsive nature."

Sarah's entire demeanor sharpens at his words, her pretty face all the more captivating as her eyes shimmer dangerously before she lets out a pretty laugh.

" _Tsk, tsk, tsk_ ," she replies with a rattle in her throat like the hiss of a snake pulling back to strike."Naughty, naughty," she coos. "Shall we play again?"

"I'm afraid that will be all for tonight. I'm being called away as we speak." Jareth stands, setting his now empty glass on the table between them before extending his hand toward her. "Come along, pet," he says, and the term is one that grates her nerves.

Sarah gives him a sneer from her seat, refusing to move. With a flicker of annoyance on his face he snatches her by her arm and hauls her up against him. He glares down at her, his eyes following the trail of red down her chest. He jerks her head to the side, giving him clear access as he traces his tongue along her stained neck, her skin instantly flushing with heat. He pulls away slowly, licking his lips as though savoring the taste of her skin and wine on his tongue. Her breathing has already gone shallow, her nipples beading beneath her thin bra, eyes wide with a flurry of emotions that move to quickly for him to read.

"I am pleased you enjoy my wine," he breathed against her lips.

Before Sarah could respond her world began to tilt as he traces them to a new room, one much smaller and bare of anything but a bed, a dresser and a small window.

"You are not to leave unless I come for you. I expect that won't be an issue, given your state." He gives her a contemptuous once over, the stickiness of the wine on her skin and her near nakedness apparently her shackles for the moment. His entire being is demeaning and cruel before he disappears entirely, leaving her in the dark, chilled space.

Sarah lets out a snort of sorts before plopping on the scratchy and lumpy bed he's left her. She smiles softly, the magic in the air giving her body a warmth and a feeling of ease she has missed these last few years. She sat in limbo between the devil who'd haunted her, and the tormentor who had broken her. Neither owned her. Neither controlled her. Whatever games he had in store would undoubtedly become more dangerous to play, yet she felt more excited than frightful at the opportunity before her. _Oh, how fun this will be_...

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 **Please R &R! I will be catching up on responses this week, and as always love to hear your thoughts. **


	7. Chapter 7

**I am really enjoying this story, and happy to hear you guys are as well. I am curious to see where it goes, honestly I hadn't expected for it to become this long initially but it's definitely been entertaining to write. Thanks to everyone who continue to review, I really do live for those so definitely keep them coming!**

 **I do not own anything of the Labyrinth or Jim Henson's work**

* * *

 _I'm the lock and you're the key_  
 _So open me, come on open me_  
 _You can have me anyway you like_  
 _I'm right here so pour yourself all over me, all over me_  
 _Treat me wrongly baby, it feels so right_

 _Brand New Moves, Hey Violet_

* * *

Sarah could lose her mind for hours at a time, a habit she'd acquired during her time at the hospital to pass the days in isolation or the hours left alone in her room. She'd taken for granted the ticking clock on her nightstand back home in the short amount of time she'd been free. In this shabby hole, with just the small window to showcase the ever grey sky outside, she felt her mind slipping with anxiety and boredom, restless and unsettled as the time passed without measure. The smell of wine was acrid against her senses, the actual taste of it bitter on her tongue still and with no means to clean herself or change. While the itch was gone, something new was replacing it. She felt agitated and irrational. Stoically perturbed. Her tormentor was somewhere deep within these halls. His proximity was enough to take away any ease she'd felt initially, ruining whatever flutters of excitement she'd had knowing where she was.

The ringing came in waves, each time a saving grace to relieve her mind from spiraling to far into thoughts of inflicting her own horrors on the man. The balm to her maddening thoughts was the satisfaction she had in knowing she'd summoned Jareth somehow, and inadvertently relieved herself of her debts to him. He had nothing with which to bait her, aside from her captivity in a new world. He engulfed her mind, filling it with naughty thoughts, ones she indulged for her own satisfaction. She understood little of what she wanted from him outside of these games they played, but he was some kind of remedy to her darkened heart. Could he truly break her, as he'd promised? Did she desire him to? She didn't know. She didn't believe there was much left to be broken, though Jareth had claimed she wasn't quite mad yet. If there were more layers to crack, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't intrigued to see how he intended to shatter them.

After all, who knew the devil tasted like heaven.

* * *

In her defense, she felt very assured she had given Jareth _plenty_ of time to stop her from doing something irrational and provoking. Yet as she laid on her cot and watched the shadows on her ceiling for what seemed like hours, her reason became fleeting, replaced by that all to troublesome reasoning for her actions.

Sarah found she had not been locked in the room, much to her surprise. Perhaps he underestimated how little dignity she had left at this point, but walking about his kingdom in naught but her wine stained underwear was hardly the most undignified thing she'd endured in her short life, and she grinned at the thought of displeasing him by ignoring his commands. Afterall, he didn't own her, not yet. She was, in a sense, a guest, and a forgotten one at that. Jareth was proving to be a lacking host, and she danced her way down his halls, a mercurial laugh escaping her lips as she imagined the look on his face when she told him so.

The place was deafeningly quiet, every light step she took still made a noise in the place. It was absolutely frigid here, and she would have killed for any clothing at this point. She wandered for some time, unsure where she was going or why she hadn't seen or heard another being in all this time, till the faint sound of steps finally rung through the air, causing her to halt in place. She couldn't tell where the noise was coming from, the echoing noise merely growing louder. They stopped, quite abruptly, and she whipped in a circle, sensing the sudden intruder behind her. A tall Fae man stood several feet down the hall from her, dark hair and features, so unlike Jareth in looks and build, dressed in simple black attire from head to toe. His muted blue eyes flickered over her several times, as if he was unsure if he were imagining her, or merely hoped he were. She can only imagine what he is thinking, finding a young human girl, nearly naked, doused in dried red wine and a speckling of bruises along her wrists waltzing around the kingdom alone. Sarah flashes him a beguiling grin, fluttering her fingers at him in a teasing wave.

"Hello," she says, hoping he'll say something if she begins first.

"Bloody hell," he hisses, shaking his head as if firmly aggravated she has come to life.

"Oh, lovely to meet you as well," she replies crossly.

"I presume you are the King's Defeater of the Labyrinth? A rabid human," the man continues, disregarding her remark entirely.

"Who me?" Sarah asks innocently, a mockery of a grin giving her away. "I prefer delusional."

"You should not be here," he snaps, crossing his arms and sneering at her, a look that bristles even with the distance between them.

"Tell me about it," she shrugs, running a hand over her chilled arms. "Perhaps you can help me find my host, and we can convince him together to send me home?" she asks brightly, jade eyes locked on the stranger before her. He seems to grow even more irate at her suggestion

 _"How_ you are still breathing baffles me," he remarks almost truly confounded by the fact. Had she pissed off more than just a King? Perhaps his entire kingdom? How delightful.

"Does it matter? I want to go home," she replies with a bite in her words, her sweet smile stuck in place.

The man sighs deeply, a look of pure irritation etched into his beautifully dark face.

"I suggest you return to where ever you were intended to stay, Defeater. I'll even save you a rather unpleasant reprimand by keeping this run in to myself, but only if you return immediately." The man remains stiff, the look of authority from head to toe, and Sarah laughs in response.

"Oh, I'm much to intrigued now to return to my little hole," she muses. "I'd rather find Jareth. Do you know where he is?" Sarah asks politely, taking several steps toward the Fae man.

His eyes flicker to a door to her right, a massive, wooden double door, and she grins smartly at him before taking a step toward it. He moves terrifyingly quickly to wedge himself in front of the door, his sharp blue eyes an absolute warning to run away before he makes her, but Sarah didn't feel an ounce of worry as she chuckles once more, sidestepping the Fae and shoving on the door behind him. Just as she'd assumed, the Fae didn't move to stop her.

They are massive and heavy, but she manages to push one open to find herself looking in on what appears to be a the throne room, filled with a handful of beautiful Fae men dressed in black, simple attire, similar to the man she'd just met, surrounding her host. They seem to be in some heated debate, Jareth pinching the bridge of his nose, refraining himself, as the other men battered him with remarks. When the door opens and she steps inside the room, they all freeze, eyes turning to her swiftly. She bats her eyes and waves casually at them.

"Hello," she greets them with the same indifference she gave the other man, her voice as light and airy as she could manage under such scrutiny.

Jareth's eyes snap up at the sound of her voice, a raggedness about him that she must have missed before. Then again, she had been in a bit of a bind, sorting out what exactly had become of her.

" _Foolish creature_ ," his tone was a hushed admonishment. Yet without recourse his eyes are no longer on her, completely dismissing her existence, and now meeting that of the man who followed her in. "Thomas, how lovely of you to finally join us." Jareth's words are ice, the sting of something Sarah doesn't recognize within them that has Thomas going rigid behind her.

"Why Jareth, don't be so cross with darling new friend. Rough morning so far?" She bats her eyes when they all stare in shock at her.

"Your insolence astounds, Sarah," Jareth says lightly as he taps a set of killer claws on the arm of his chair, his eyes slowly returning to her then.

"What's a girl to do when left alone in a new world? I was bored," she sighs casually.

He cocks his head at her, his mannerisms more rigid and unnatural than she remembered them being. She takes dainty steps around the others, inspecting each one as intently as they observe her. She met his gaze once again when she was just a few feet away and flashes him a cheeky grin.

"Perhaps my host should have provided me a means of entertainment," Sarah emphasizes the last word.

His entire being is terrifyingly calm and stoic, but she can see the storm brewing in the depths of his eyes. He ran a red tongue over sharp teeth, his eyes going vacant for a brief moment before returning to her fully again.

"Leave us," he says flatly, and without question the room empties in seconds.

They stare at each other for several long seconds in silence, both studying the other like an opponent. Jareth stands suddenly and takes measured steps toward her, his brewing temper radiating from him with that malevolence she could almost taste, coating the air like a dense cloud.

"Did I not give you an order?" he murmurs, stopping just inches before her.

"I don't like taking orders. Just ask Doctor Jones," Sarah coos back softly, already thrumming from the mere scent of him and his proximity. He brought her body to life so easily it should have troubled her, but she reveled in it.

"Shall I punish you now, or after dinner?" he asks, grazing her cheek with the back of his hand with ominous restraint, her body instantly flushing with excitement at the contact.

"Dinner? How long have I been in my room?"

" _Your_ room? Don't flatter yourself, precious. When you are mine, you will possess nothing. You will _be_ possessed, Sarah, an object with which I will entertain myself until I undoubtedly grow tired of you," he speaks softly, almost endearingly, the edges of his lips drawing back, the cruelty in his words sending a spike of anger through her that she hides behind the flutter of her eyelashes.

"Well, can I at least have a bath while you make up your mind?"

He can't fathom that she brushes aside his threats so mildly, his fingers flexing with the restrained urge to drag her somewhere he can truly instill fear into her. Instead, Jareth grasps her arm sharply, his temper bordering on the edges of his sanity. She winces at the sudden pain, but it is fleeting as he has traces them once more to his own room. Without care to her fragility, Jareth shoves her with force against the nearest wall, her head hitting it with a resounding crack before he entraps her there with his body, towering over her and sneering down at her.

"Do not ever address me so informally again in the presence of my people. This is no dream, little Sarah, but I will make you wish it so should you test my temper again."

"And what will you do? Torture me, Jareth? Lock me up, perhaps?" she asks, ignoring the aching in her skull from the impact, sensing a knot forming already on the back of her skull.

She can sense that he is holding back and that he's done little to actually harm her as of yet. Which had her curious as to how far he could actually go with her when he did not yet possess her. His sneer deepens, his magic brushing over her darkly before he pulls back without a word and points at the door beside them.

"Clean yourself up," he says sharply enough that she responds promptly, much to his relief.

He stands in silence for the briefest of moments as she scurries off, contemplating just how badly he wants to whip her till her skin is pink and bruised to sate his anger and then fuck her till they both felt better. How he misses the fear he'd once instilled in her. The memory of her parading around in such a state, mocking him in front of his own council, has his claws curling. He may not be able to intimidate her physically, but that didn't mean his generosity had no limits. Jareth smirks as he traces into the bathroom, leaning casually against his vanity to watch his pet. Perhaps the girl would crumble at the loss of her true privacy, and he in turn would be satisfied in mocking her innocence.

Sarah leans over the bath and tests the water after giving him an initial once over, perhaps wondering his next move. But she continues as he watches her play with the bottles of oils along the shelf by the bath, seeming to take a liking to a crystal bottle filled with pink liquid, one he knows smells like roses and vanilla. He'd had it delivered just the other day…

She all but ignores him as she readies her bath, and he forgets for a moment to care. Watching her has always been torturous, but doing so while she is so physically close is painful, and he hates himself for desiring something he wants to break so terribly. The anger flares and consumes the desire, twisting it. She couldn't ensnare him as she had before, not this time. This time she was his to sate his temper and desires on. Once he's found his way around this mess, that is.

The whole place is soon filled with the scent of roses and bubbles begin to appear on the surface of the bath water. She begins to undo her bra then, her back to him still.

"Are you going to stay and just watch?" she asks, casting him a deprecating smirk as she flicks her bra to the ground.

"It is my bath, is it not?" Jareth is rigid, his words ice despite the flame that blazes in his eyes.

"Won't you join me then?" Sarah asks innocently, wriggling her hips out of her cheeky underwear.

Sarah turns to face him, completely bare now. Her rosy nipples tighten under his gaze, her flat stomach leading to the faintest brush of black curls and slender legs that he envisions wrapping around his waist. She grins tempestuously, her opponent glaring, jaw clenched tight. She is morbidly pleased he is left speechless, and turns without pause to slide beneath the bubbles of her bath.

Jareth's mind rages against his own weakness. He would have dragged her from that tub in seconds and taken her right here on the stone floor if he hadn't completely up heaved all his careful planning. He isn't sure if she knows how safe she is from him presently, but she is surely acting like she does. She disrobed, given him a clear view of what was soon to be his, and there was no ounce of fear in her as she'd taunted him so.

Jareth laughs, the timber cynical. "A shameless virgin. How delightful."

He meant to mock her, inflict any measure of insult on her that he could. Yet she ignores it, her eyes lit with pure joy as she relaxed in the water.

"Sarah," he calls for her attention after several silent moments, purring her name, and after a few distracted blows on the bubbles she held in her hand she glances up at him.

"Once you're done you will dress yourself in the gown I lay out for you. I expect you to be fully presentable tonight, despite your clear desire to run about my halls like a heathen."

"You're determined to not let me have any fun, aren't you?" she grumbles. "I don't think Thomas minded," she smirks, enjoying the way his eyes sharpen in response.

Jareth's teeth clench painfully. He bit his cheek, allowing the copper tinge to distract him from the annoyance that shot through him.

"Perhaps not. But if you insist on acting like an animal, I'll be inclined to let my people treat you like one," Jareth murmurs with a harsh smirk. Sarah glares back at him but keeps her pretty pink lips shut, much to his surprise.

He'd meant to leave her here in his room the second he'd deposited her, yet for some reason he is still being pulled in by her, the combination of his desire and temper a deadly mix. He approaches her before he even makes the decision to, crouching beside the tub where she sits. He reaches a hand toward her and Sarah hid her unease as his clawed fingers snatch a strand of her hair and twirl it between his fingers.

"Do I frighten you?" He nearly whispers, releasing the strand to trail a nail down her exposed shoulder. Goose bumps trail behind his touch and he inwardly groans. She is so sensitive.

"Is there a right answer to that question?" Sarah asks, her body completely frozen as he repeats the motion. Jareth's eyes flicker to hers before drifting away.

"You fear this Doctor," he continues, his words a statement this time. "Tell me, what else did Doctor Jones do to you, little Sarah, to earn such regard? This was certainly his first attempt to tarnish your innocence. You reek of it, after all." Jareth's words stung harsher than she liked, and she nearly scowls in response to them, but she keeps her face flat.

"Yes, well, it seems you both just... lost your minds over me," she laughs, a tinkling sound. Jareth's stroke leaves a sting this time, and a bright red line on her skin.

"You are overtly egotistical for such an average, albeit pretty, little thing, Sarah," he says with a layer of admonishment in his words again, a tone she is beginning to loathe.

Sarah moves to place her elbows on the side of the tub, bringing her nose inches from his and exposing her chest from the protection of the bubbles wrapped around her thin waist. Jareth's eyes instantly dip with a heated graze over her exposed flesh.

"Is that what you really think, Jareth?" she coos softly, pushing herself forward just an inch so that she can almost touch him. "You want to know what I think?"

"What's that, pet?" He asks, getting lost in the smell roses on her, her soft breaths brushing his face like a caress as she leans in to share her secret.

"I think you enjoyed hunting me all these years," Her voice has become husky, her eyes misting in an enchanting excitement that had him gripping the tub rim hard enough to crack the porcelain to refrain from touching her. "I think it kills you that Doctor Jones got to me first. And I think you're just... _aching_... for a taste of what that was like."

Sarah leans forward then and nips his chin sharply between her teeth with a playful growl before slinking back into the tub water, her lips pulled back into a salacious grin, as if she reveled in awakening the beast that would tear her limb from limb if it chose to.

He had already been spread thin before he'd brought her here, his control seeming to be perpetually frayed at the edges since her escape back to the Aboveground those years ago. He'd thought he would tear the walls of his kingdom apart on his rage, that she'd dared to take something so precious as his link with the Labyrinth from him and then leave. Destruction had been the least of his outbursts. There was a pile of bodies to accompany those months of rage afterwards. Until he'd finally been able to slip into her dreams, only then did his temper begin to simmer. But then she'd escaped him, disappearing behind a fog for years and laughing in his face along the way. He'd wanted to mangle her body, shred her throat, silence her forever. He'd wanted to capture and claim her, keep her forever and devour her. It had been maddening, no release from the frenzied obsession in his mind. Now, he was watching her all but ignore him after _biting_ him. In his bath. Naked.

There wasn't much thought behind the action, but before he's manages to reign himself in again he has snatched her by her slender arms and pulled her from the bath, pressing her naked wet form against his own.

"Did I not warn you to be careful, Sarah? I am a... possessive creature. I advise you not to taunt me so," he purrs in her ear, and smiles ominously when her breath hikes in response. He loves how weak he can make her, how quickly her walls fall for a few simple touches and words, her budding sexuality so easy to ignite, making him insatiably hungry. It is without a doubt the weapon he is most eager to use against her.

Jareth savagely takes her lips in a punishing kiss then. She is scalding hot to his frigid being. He wont let her retreat from his onslaught, despite her desperate mewls for air, he takes from her until he is sated. He is not so careful with her, nipping at her hard enough to leave a sting on her lip. Jareth tugs her roughly out of the water, keeping her tight against his chest and lifting her till she is forced to wrap her legs and arms around him. He is smirking when her eyes focus enough to see him again. She is shivering visibly, her breath ragged and her lips stinging uncomfortably. He walks them back into his room, laying her out on his bed, her body wet and bare beneath his gaze. With a wicked glint he dips his head and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking sharply and twisting his tongue around till she is arching up into him. Sarah gasps and wriggles beneath him, caught off guard by the action and doused in such a heavy layer of desire she can hardly see straight, let alone tell him to fuck off.

"How eager you are for a monster you toy with so carelessly," he rumbles between the valley of her breasts. "I wonder what you would let me do to this fragile body of yours," he nips at her collarbone and she gives a startled jerk. "I could make you scream, make you cry, make you writhe in pleasure, and beg on your knees for more. I could make you bleed and break, a slave to my whims," his words were heated with excitement as his hands trail over her, his tongue running over her skin wickedly, following the trails of water on her skin.

"But you can't," Sarah blurts out, both hating and cheering herself for finding her sanity in this moment. Jareth's movements stop entirely. He glares down at her, the ice in his eyes terrifying.

"For now, my darling Sarah. Your submission is inevitable."

He stands then, breaking his contact from her. He gives her a dark gaze of both disgust and contempt, as if he could injure her feelings with a look, and while it did, she was well aware of the proof of his desire still prominently hard behind his tight black pants. Her eyes flicker from his arousal back to his eyes, a smirk on her swollen lips.

"Be ready in an hour," he says with cold disinterest before disappearing from the room.

* * *

Sarah did as he commanded, deciding she'd much rather be able to roam about then be left in either his room or her own. She was dressed and ready for him when he returned, donning black lace undergarments that were entirely too provocative and revealing to be practical under the beautiful sapphire blue dress that had mysteriously arrived with them after he'd left. She'd tried desperately not to spend too much time touching herself, the ache in her gut becoming unbearable and the sensitivity of her breasts was nearly painful now. When he arrived, Jareth came through the door, even though he seemed to constantly trace when he left her, perhaps she just had that effect on him to send him running away from her, something that pleased her in all the right places.

"I intend to have you by my side at an event tonight, Sarah," he speaks slowly as he circles behind her, his cold hands pulling the hair to the side and baring her neck to him. "But I must have your word that you will not speak of how you came to be here. In fact, I'd prefer if it if you didn't speak at all unless spoken too," Jareth's lips trail across the exposed flesh of her neck as he speaks, and she hardly hears his request, ignoring it to savor the sensation of his touch. Pain flares sharply as he bites down on the tender skin of her shoulder, the skin nearly broken. She yelps in surprise and pulls away but his hands clasp onto her as he runs a tongue over the mark he's left.

"Answer me, precious," he commands sharply, his hands moving to her hips and pulling her subtly back into him, savoring the way her body instantly obeys and conforms to him.

"Fine, I promise to keep my lips shut," she smiles cattily back at him.

Jareth flashes teeth at her, one hand releasing her to conjure a crystal. He turns her to face him, holding the crystal just before her face.

"Seal it with a kiss," he commands with a velvety lilt, his eyes locked on her with anticipation.

Sarah isn't sure if she's playing very strategically or not at the moment, but she wasn't going to miss a chance to see what was outside of this room. She ran her tongue slowly over her lips, wetting them as she stares into those mismatched eyes. His jaw clenches subtly, and she grins as she leans forward and places a soft kiss on the crystal. It pops instantly, a tingling sensation running across her lips and down her throat. It's pleasant and disturbing all at once, and she opens her mouth to ask him what he's done, but she's silenced when he seizes on the opportunity to kiss her, sweeping his tongue between her parted lips. He dominates her mouth for a brief moment before pulling away entirely.

"Come along, pet," he says through a very pleased grin.

* * *

She is standing amidst the largest dining hall she's ever seen, filled with beautifully dark and regal look Fae. She is instantly on edge, surrounded by so many strangers and feeling as if she's made some kind of mistake by leaving the sanctuary of his room.

Jareth breaks contact but for a hand on her lower back to lead her about the room. His guests stare and laugh at her, clearly amused with her presence. Sarah holds her head high and gave toothy grins at anyone who looked her way, batting her eyes, winking, waving, anything to startle them with her forwardness. They stop as a waiter offers them a drink, and Jareth takes one glass, sipping from it before offering it to her. Unsure why she isn't allowed her own she takes it, finishing the contents quickly, earning a chuckle from him. Before she can start any banter with him over it, the man she recognized from earlier in the throne room appears beside them.

"Your human cleans up rather nicely," the man, Thomas, remarks with an air of disregard, as if she weren't even a being to acknowledge.

"She has her merits," Jareth says, giving her a scathing look, eyes dripping over her hungrily before turning back to the Fae beside him. "Do see she eats something, Thomas. She's too frail for my liking."

Sarah gaped at the remark, before laughing prettily. She opened her mouth to reply and… nothing came out. Her words were muted, incapable of escaping her lips. The confusion and rage must have been immediate on her face, because Jareth gave her a dangerous flash of teeth, amusement lighting his face.

"Something the matter, pet?" He asks smoothly.

"What…" the word escapes her lips finally, and she realizes what he's done.

"Fetch her a drink, my darling creature seems to be overwhelmed by her first court appearance," Jareth says to Thomas, an evil grin still lighting his face as he strokes her cheek gently.

"Did you think I'd let you loose without a muzzle for that pretty mouth?" He whispers just beside her ear, looking as if a lover whispering words or seduction to her.

"Should I appreciate that you're so afraid of my mouth, Jareth?" she let her words come out sultry and velvety and his grin turns cold.

Thomas returns seconds later with a goblet of wine for her, and Jareth gave her another derisive smirk before leaving her with Thomas. Apparently Thomas was to be her watcher for the night, because Jareth kept his distance for what seemed like hours. She began to notice that she only could catch glimpses of him, and he was usually dancing and laughing in the arms of beautiful Fae women. Sarah found it amusing they all looked so alike, tall, blonde, fair as could be. So opposite of her in every way.

Thomas did as he'd been instructed, he had food brought to her time and again, each time growing flustered that she would merely pick at all of it, opting instead for the wine that never seems to have an end.

"Eat." Thomas snaps at her on the fifth plate of something that she's mostly ignored.

She can't reply, but she pushes her plate away. Thomas's jawline ticks as he glares at her. He seems more irritated by her bold defiance than Jareth and she wonders how that's possible.

"The King wishes you to. I assume you value whatever pathetic existence you have?" He asks, clearly rhetorically, but she seizes the chance to speak.

"What makes you think I do?" she asks in a hushed tone, smirking at his blank expression.

Thomas opens his mouth to say something in return, but closes it almost immediately, his eyes darting off as if his name had been called, though Sarah hadn't heard anything. He then stood and snatches her by the arm, dragging her out of her chair and across the room. Sarah was too busy with the sensation of his hand on her to notice where they were going, her mind splintering and her gut squirming uncomfortably. When it became unbearable, she jerked out of his grip, eyes gone feral as she glares at the man.

"Your Majesty," Thomas says, his eyes diverting from the human to his King, who Sarah hadn't noticed till now was staring at her conspicuously from just a foot away.

"Oh, you haven't done her justice, Jareth," a woman, willowy and breathtaking beautiful, long golden locks falling down her back, was leaning into Jareth as she inspected Sarah, her hand on his chest and body pressing into his wantonly. "She's much prettier than the last one. We shall have some fun with her, I think," the woman's voice is suggestive, opal eyes lingering on the human with interest. Sarah wants to scratch her eyes out, a feeling of something festering in her chest at the sight of the women, at her words.

"Thomas," Jareth says smoothly, rather blatantly ignoring the woman speaking, his mind still wondering at Sarah's odd reaction to Thomas touching her. "Put my darling pet to bed."

He cut his gaze from both of them then, instantly dismissing them. Sarah wanted to smack him for treating her like this, for ignoring her, for taking her voice from her. But she didn't, and went willingly to escape the crowd of watchers.

* * *

Sarah laid awake in her room hours after Thomas had left her there, her world spinning a bit from the drinking. She wasn't sure how he'd known where to put her, but she was relieved she'd gone here. She was feeling stretched thin, irritated. Things were moving to slowly, she was growing impatient, waiting expectantly for the next 'game'. This dinner had been nothing but a reminder of her entrapment, and she wondered if that's exactly what he'd intended, to remind her of what he intended for her. The words of that woman kept floating around in her mind. _Prettier than the last one_... Who was the last one? Another human who ran the Labyrinth perhaps? Jealousy wasn't something she was accustomed to, but she felt it bubbling up like acid in her veins. Amidst her thoughts and mindless staring, Sarah was less than prepared when she suddenly felt her body dissipate, only to reappear on a long leather couch in a room she recognized all to well after her eyes ceased spinning. She sat up quickly, her eyes landing on the Goblin King, sitting without a shirt in the armchair across from her, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"I hope I didn't wake you." His relaxed and arrogant demeanor says he couldn't have cared less. "Would you like your voice back?" he asks, a tug at his lips that makes her uneasy.

"Yes."

"What will you give me for it?" those sharp teeth flash again and she seethes quietly.

"What would you like?" Sarah reclines, matching his stance.

"I want what you took from me, and I want your submission. Will you concede yet?"

"That's... an awful lot, just for a voice." She begins to twirl a strand of hair between her fingers, eyes diverted from him. She recognizes that he is allowing her to speak by using questions, something that she finds ridiculously thoughtful for someone so manipulative, though she imagines he is still toying with her.

"I'm an impatient being, Sarah," Jareth muses, conjuring a crystal and twirling it slowly before looking back at her steadily. "But this isn't our game tonight." The crystal in his hand pops, a tingling sensation running across her lips once more as he undoes his previous spell on her.

Sarah wants to scream at him. She knows it will do no good. Besides, she isn't quite certain what upsets her more, that he cheats or that she doesn't care. Instead of giving him any reaction at all, she stands and sheds her gown, the weight of it uncomfortable and falling to the ground heavily. Her eyes flicker over him as she steps out of it, her body chilled already from the air but she ignores it simply to enjoy the surprise flash across his face and the burning in his eyes as she steps toward him.

"What ever are you doing, precious?" he asks, and she wonders if he does so simply to permit her to speak.

"Do you like what you see, Goblin King?" she taunts him, running a finger along the lace of the barely-there demi bra, but her usual lilt is muted, her jade eyes a flat and glassy sheen. He remains still as she boldly straddles him in his seat, resting her hands on his shoulders. "You picked it out, after all," she continues, settling over him and boring her eyes into him.

"I advise you to cease whatever this is, while I still give you the choice," Jareth responds sharply, but she can already see black pools of desire growing in the depths of his mismatched eyes.

"Perhaps we should play one of my games. You've had all the fun so far," she chuckles, running her fingers down the exposed part of his chest, savoring the feeling of his skin.

"What game is that?" he asks, his usual tone huskier than usual and she savors it along with the scent of him as she hovers over him.

"I'll be yours, for just a night, if you release me in the morning," she replies serenely, letting her hair cascade around them, eyes locked on his.

"I prefer my women experienced, little Sarah," Jareth gives her a mocking grin at that, though she can feel his arousal beneath her, giving her more than enough bravado to continue.

"You could teach me," Sarah replies softly, running her hand lower between them, her lips hovering just over his. She grins when his hand snatches her wrist tightly, stopping it from reaching its intended destination. He brings her wrist to his lips, pressing a ghost of a kiss against the fluttering pulse beneath it.

"Foolish creature," he chuckles darkly.

* * *

 **PLEASE review! I am always so excited to hear what you all think as the story goes :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**I looooove the summer but I'm finding no time to write and finish these stories out. But, whaddya gonna do about it. Another chapter should be out in the next week or so.** **Enjoy :)**

 **Warnings: Some flashes of violence, bits of sexual content, explicit language.**

 **I do not own any of Jim Henson's work.**

* * *

 _The tables have turned, you're still there  
_ _Now you're singing in your electric chair  
_ _You'll burn if you're made of paper, you're going to see  
_ _And if you want money in your coffee  
_ _If you want secrets in your tea  
_ _Keep your paper heart away from me_

Paper Girl, July Talk

* * *

 _Foolish creature," he chuckles darkly._

"What would you have of me, Sarah?" Jareth asks smoothly, sharp grin on his lips. "Do you want me to pleasure you with my mouth? My fingers perhaps? Explore you tight little cunt?" His hand dips and gropes her sex, gently massaging her through her panties and she can feel the blood flush her face too quickly to hide the reaction, a hitch in her breath that seems to incite him further.

"Perhaps you think to win my affections through a thorough fucking," Jareth continues, his tone curling with cruelty as he applies more pressure right at her entrance, fingers slipping past the lace to graze the flesh that's already slick beneath them. Sarah doesn't pull back even as her body shudders slightly. She won't be dissuaded by his obvious attempt to shame her. It isn't more potent than the hunger she senses within him, his eyes flickering along her skin.

"I have very few expectations from you Jareth. Affection has never been one of them," she breathes against his lips lightly, teasingly, but even she hears the slight waver in her voice, the catches in her breath as he begins to stroke her folds gently.

It isn't till he purposefully grazes her bud of nerves with the sharp end of his claw that she shudders for a different reason entirely, a wash of tension thrumming through her at the proximity of danger as he continues in slow languid movements, lathering her sex in the liquid pooling from her. Jareth chuckles, sensing her unease even as her hips incline into his touch, adoring the feel of her and trying not to lose himself in it.

"Why have you for a night, when I could have you forever, my precious thing?" There's a possessiveness to his words, a harshening of his features that borders on terrifying, and she wants nothing more than for him to continue, despite any reasonable thoughts to run away.

"Wouldn't you prefer to rid me of your system?" she asks slyly, a challenging grin forming on her lips.

Jareth stops moving beneath her, an act that he finds difficult to manage. There is a fire igniting in her eyes that he quite enjoys. In this drunken state she is ill-equipped to hide herself, and he's enjoying the opportunity to unmask her. He can taste the acidic rage that simmers just below her surface constantly, but it is nearly drowned out by the scent of her desire, the misting of roses on her flesh. He is enjoying this very raw and potent side of her far too much, eager to play with it further. It makes his anger, and his appetite, almost unbearable. It boils up till he despises it, and his temper demands he sate it, punish her somehow for making him suffer in this way.

"I am generous, Sarah. If this is the game you wish to play, then perhaps I should warn you of exactly what you are offering," he replies with a dangerous flash of teeth. Jareth deposits her on the floor with a slight shove, standing to tower over her.

Sarah scrambles to right herself, and when she is facing him once more, his hand is extended, holding a black silk ribbon.

"Blindfold yourself." His command is sharp. There is no doubt on his face that she will comply, and Sarah wonders if he's testing her resolve, to see if she'll balk.

Sarah snatches the ribbon, deftly tying it around her eyes as he commanded, the action causing a slight tremble in her bones that she is unfamiliar with. It doesn't feel like fear or excitement, perhaps merely a combination of both.

"Good girl," he murmurs against her ear from behind, and she jumps in response, having not sensed he had even moved.

The warning signs in her mind are flaring, her nerves are tingling, and there's a steady trail of words running through her mind, all of which are telling her to run. Cold hands rest on her hips, and she can sense she is being traced elsewhere. When the sensation ceases, his hands glide down her arms to clasp her thin wrists. He guides them above her head, till cold and damp metal meets skin. She jerks back, apprehension fluttering in her gut, but his hold on her tightens as he shackles her arms over her head. Sarah's heart flutters erratically and her mind wanders to memories of being bound to tables, to chairs, venom in her veins, bile in her throat, a ringing in her ears, something terrible coming, _coming, coming…_

"Calm your heart," that velvety voice pulls her from falling into the abyss of her mind.

There is panic in her veins as she tries find a tether to this reality. Jareth's hands begin to brush along the plains of her stomach, the pads of his fingers trailing along the goosebumps that have covered her with embarrassing vigor. His scent surrounds her, her body warming, and when he cups her breasts, kneading them gently, she melts back into his rigid frame with a gasp on her lips. It's then she notices he is like a statue behind her, his breathing heavy, a reverberation from his chest that she knew, because it had beat like that against her palm when she'd enraged him before. His intoxicating scent takes on a darker layer, that malcontent she was so used to now felt unwelcome against her skin as he once again moved his hands down her frame to grasp her hips. She can feel the tight jerk of his shoulders, as if snapping his head side to side to regain his composure. He stills, and it's then she can finally breath, her mind only slightly out of sorts as she tugs on her shackles, trying to take in her surroundings without any vision to do so. She can sense the cold draft, the odd dampness of the space around them, a subtle scratching noise, the scent of mold and something else that makes her nose cringe. Each new discovery amidst the darkness and her shackles is only worsening her resolve. Jareth's lips brush against her ear, and she can feel the draw of his lips as he smirks, claws pressing into her exposed flesh along her hips and stomach. His fingers splay across her and nearly touch, and she realizes how entirely small she is in comparison to him, a realization either by his fault or design. This no longer felt like the game she'd set, no pools of desire or excitement, no temptation. His touch is no longer sensual, now dangerous, as if a monster lay on the other side of her blindfolds, watching, waiting.

"So you think to escape me with a night of submission?" he asks, and she can hear the mocking grin on his lips. "Surely you know by now, my precious thing, that my desires for you are as dark and depraved as I am."

Jareth removes her blindfold then, one hand weaving through her hair to clasp firmly the back of her skull to keep her head pointing in one direction. Her eyes flutter, her breathing steadying in relief, if only briefly. Sarah blinks several times, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and then she sees it. Or him, more accurately. There is a man, chained to a chair before her. She can barely make him out before Jareth suddenly illuminates the space with an orb of white light. She feels sick almost instantly. The man if so pale he appears sickly grey, a white shirt covered in dried blood is stuck to his skin, as if the wounds still seeped and oozed on the other side, the long lines that look like lashes from a corded whip show on his arms and neck, peeking around the fabric in gruesome array. His face is bruised and blotched but she can see the maddening brown eyes, sunken as they may be, and she knows who he is.

"Doctor Jones," his name rolls off her tongue slowly.

"Not hardly my greatest work, but we can certainly fix that," Jareth muses his hands trailing down her waist pulled taught from her arms stretched overhead. Her gut flutters with unease, her mind cracking in places she didn't realize had been fully intact as she stares at the living corpse of a man.

"What do you mean?" She asks, trying to keep her heart from faltering in her chest, knowing he can sense every part of her while she is pressed against him still.

Jareth smirks, leaving her to trail behind the man, placing a hand on either of the Doctor's shoulders, causing the man to flinch in pain. No words, no whimpers, nothing escapes his lips even though they open in clear suffering. Jareth squeezes tightly, his movements sharpening, inhuman, as he circles back around toward her.

"A night of submission… the opportunity to bruise and torment that fair skin of yours, or perhaps to merely make you watch as I dismember the man you think you fear, and teach you what fear truly is, Sarah." Jareth is practically stalking toward her as he speaks deceptively calmly.

She recognized that look of desire in his eyes, but there is a flatness in his words. She wonders if he is trying to call her bluff, or if she should call his. Jareth looks impassive, cool. The desire that had once filled him when he'd spoken of brutalizing her before is replaced with something much more hollow. But the stench of what she now knows is mottled blood and festering wounds is filling her senses and she's growing ill. Her vision is blurring, she feels the blood leaving her arms, a panic fluttering in her chest.

The Doctor's eyes flutter to her, a pleading sense within them that reviles and ignites her insides. He is pleading in silence, as if she would ever spare him mercy. She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind as the ringing begins, the heightening of every sensation beginning to drown any sense in her head. When she stares back at the man, she sneers in clear contempt. He doesn't seem to notice. In the momentary silence, brown eyes _dip,_ scraping over her with slow and precise delight. Even in the face of death, those brown eyes linger repulsively upon her exposed skin as she is shackled before him, and the memories flood her of every other time before and she just... snaps.

Her body jerks violently in a rage to be rid of her shackles, a desperation to claw his eyes from their sockets. Her mind is sickened and enraged to the point beyond mindfulness or preservation, and the liquid that pools around her wrists as she tugs with savagery at the shackles goes unnoticed by her, the pinprick pain numbed beneath the black spots in her vision. A hand clasps her chin, painfully pulling her face towards him even as she continues to struggle and escape.

"Now Sarah, have you rescinded your offer for the night?"

Her mind is so erratic she doesn't sense the sneer on his lips or the tension in his limbs, because she no longer cares. She doesn't notice how very irritated he is that a mere glance from this mortal man can send her into a mess of panic, blood and tears, without a single one meant for him. He despises that it disturbs him for reasons beyond his own will to terrify and torment her. Her wrists bleed, crimson trailing down her arm as she continues to fight against the restraints in her haze. A vision he'd often fantasized of, and yet it did not satisfy him as he'd craved it too, a weakness within his own black heart that twists like thorned ivy's constricting painfully until his chest is heaving in a fit of rage that he is no longer sure how to dissolve, because the source is not so clear anymore.

She crumbles to nearly the same state he found her in when he stole her from the Doctor's home, and in a charade of cruelty he releases her from her shackles, stepping aside to allow her at the fiend still shackled and silenced behind them. Sarah knocks the Doctor from his chair in her frenzy to strike him. They crumble to the ground in a painful thud and Jareth almost wishes he hadn't magically removed the man's tongue so he could enjoy the screams of pain and cries for mercy. Sarah strikes him, again and again, her tiny fists hardly making a dent around his own work, but her fury lends to speed, and she doesn't stop.

"Sarah, I think you've had quite enough," he snaps, but she ignores him, landing a punch that breaks the Doctor's nose and sends a spray of blood at her.

Jareth growls in frustration, before sending the man away with a wave of his hand, Sarah falling onto the now empty floor with force. She pushes back onto her knees, eyes wide in a crazed daze as she inspects herself, and the blood that's now covering her hands, arms and chest. A broken laugh escapes her lips, followed by a choked noise of anger, or disbelief, he's not quite sure which. He moves to grasp her, to remove her from this place and finish this, but his movement startles her and she jolts to her feet and dashes out of the cell, disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

He had considered chasing after her, however his own irritation with how quickly she'd unraveled would only be assuaged by the prospect of allowing her to run ragged and meet a demise of sorts, lost and forgotten down here. He'd thought to enjoy himself by eviscerating her sense of power over him, forcing an image into her mind that might actually terrify her, showing her the truth of his cruelty. It hadn't gone quite as planned, and he was once again left to ponder her reactions. She'd attempted her own act of vengeance, and he'd just stopped himself from allowing her to end what he'd started. It wasn't something for her to savor, he intended to keep that pleasure for himself.

The thought of letting her rot down here was appealing, yet he waits, lingering in the empty cell, pondering how foolish she is to toy with and test him, his withering impatience, temper brooding sharply. Seeing her lash out like an animal had somehow dimmed that ever-present temper in his chest though, which only irritates him further. Her offer so naively intended for something even he found tempting. All in good time though, as her current stature still held a threat to him. He couldn't touch her the way he desperately craved to until he'd stripped her of her gift and claimed her as a possession. But his reasoning behind this particular course of action was waning, and he knew it. Even the laws protecting her were beginning to pale behind the perturbed hunger that parched him beyond reason with every passing hour. He was beginning to wonder if her incessant pecking at his sanity would end in the very way he'd vowed it wouldn't. She was... special, after all. One didn't simply obtain his link to the Labyrinth, did not simply defeat its challenge, and walk away a mere child. She'd absorbed his gift, accepted it, even if she'd been unaware at the time. She had bested him and his Labyrinth, and now she waltzed about his world without any idea of the very thing she had become. His young, foolish _betrothed_. The word grated him mercilessly, claws curling in both contempt and possessiveness. To consummate it in the most biblical sense would be to adhere to it, and he would refuse her that privilege. She would be graced with none of his mercy, and he would not lose sight of his end goal to simply obtain her so that he could use her as he pleased, like the insignificant thing that she was.

She would never escape his wrath, even if the illusion of escape emboldened her against him. In time, even that would turn brittle. Something feels hollow about the prospect, and he allows himself to muse that he merely wishes to keep her flame bright for the first few decades, if only to watch it flicker and fade as he slowly sates himself.

He traces to his throne and turns to stone in his seat as his thoughts engulf him, lost in his own imaginings of their night had it gone as she'd intended, and quite enjoying the visions, knowing he shouldn't continue to tempt fate by musing over it. She shouldn't be so alluring, so tempting. She was too young, too unkempt and unrefined for his tastes, foreign to him in all ways. And yet he could barely keep himself from her, found himself craving the heat of her presence, the scent of her surrounding him as it had in her dreams, those piercing green eyes that haunt him. It suffocated him. Even imaginings of fucking her have become desperate, rough and unbidden. He would break her, but in his mind she reciprocates.

He forgets himself, for a time, perhaps longer than he intended to. Despite himself, his mind wanders to the lust soaked imagery of a dark haired, green eyed being, released from the fragile shackles of morality, imagining the ways he will possess her once she's succumbed to his games. Impatience flares and a snarl escapes his throat before a delirious laugh follows, harshening with each echo as it escapes him.

* * *

Breathing has become painful as she gasps for lungfuls of rancid air, attempting to calm herself, find an equilibrium to stand upon. With no measure of time, she can't be sure how long she's been running, but the muscles in her legs are twitching and there's pain in her bare feet. Shame is more potent in her blood than fear now. Shame that she failed so miserably, that she'd given Jareth all the tools for a trap, that even practically dead the good doctor had wrought such a violent reaction from her.

So she doesn't think twice amid the disorientation and the self contempt, the burning rage in her chest, about the door that just happens to appear in sight, a passage out of the dungeon. Sarah hardly questions the freedom to exit this place, simply taking it and not looking back. She'll wonder later, when she's scrubbed every inch of her skin raw, till she can no longer feel his eyes on her.

* * *

"What the hell have you done?"

The sharp snap of Thomas's voice is her welcome as her eyes adjust in the dim lighting of the hallway she finds herself in. She squints at him, then down at herself. A mess of blood and sweat, topped off with the laughable coverage of her undergarments.

"We really must stop meeting like this," she coos, isolating her ragged emotions and locking them down tight as she brushes her hair to one side and giving him a cursory look, appearing as if she's just stepped out of a tea party in hell.

"I see your tongue has finally wrought you some semblance of punishment," he remarks, perhaps pleased with the idea.

Sarah chuckles. "Sadistic lot, aren't you?"

Thomas sneers, and she sighs, a flicker of disappointment that she can't penetrate his hate, knowing she'll simply have to destroy him as well someday.

"How did you end up here?" He asks, fixing the cuffs of his black shirt.

"No clue. I just followed the door out of the dungeon," Sarah replies smartly.

"The… the door?" He asks, his eyes narrowing on her.

"Yes," Sarah says slowly, watching as confusion flashes across the man's face.

"There is no door to the dungeon," he finally mutters angrily.

Sarah shrugs. "Then how did I ever make it here, Thomas? Were you thinking of me?" She grins deceptively, his annoyance flashing once more, perhaps a bit guilty of just that.

"If you've been released from his dungeon, then he must desire your presence," Thomas nearly snaps, his shoulders squaring as he turns on his heels and takes off. Sarah follows, sensing his command to follow.

* * *

"Do try not to get yourself killed," he had said as they'd neared the door.

"He can't kill me if he doesn't own me," Sarah had rebuked haughtily.

"Never repeat that aloud again," he hissed in a whisper. Thomas glared at her then, and she wondered if the flare of concern was for her, or his King. Sarah could have laughed, having confirmed this may not be common knowledge amongst Jareth's people, and perhaps he would find himself in trouble if rumor got out.

"Our laws are powerful, Defeater. But he is much more powerful, and his reason hangs by a thread. You must concede in this. Your death… would ruin us."

A single knock before Thomas dismisses himself. He gives her one last once over, as if trying to piece together what's been done, or how she's so unscathed, mostly. His foreboding words made no sense to her, but he disappeared, leaving her in silence and confusion. When no one answered, she let herself in.

* * *

She's standing before the window overlooking his Labyrinth, still wearing her blood speckled under garments and haloed by the moonlight in all her darkened beauty. The rain outside has left a fog on the glass, he's sure she's frozen to the bone by now, but she's resting against the glass, her forehead pressed against it.

Jareth approaches her silently. She doesn't flinch away when he runs a claw down her cheek, instead looking back at him with sunken jade eyes, empty and glistening. She is beautiful, and he wants to simply devour her. The flicker of a thought leaves him unsettled.

"I don't believe I excused you from my presence," he murmurs, continuing to stroke her cheek ominously, tenderly.

Sarah's eyes flicker from him to the rain once more, a fragile shell of a thing. He prefers her bite to this.

"Is he dead?" She asks in a whisper, one of longing.

"No."

Sarah sighs, and he is growing agitated that she is so calm, so at ease, despite his intentions to leave her wary and fearful.

"I wish he were," she hums softly, resting her head against the glass.

Jareth feels something inside his chest tighten painfully, and he isn't sure what this sensation is but it infuriates him to no end.

"The doctor is mine, Sarah. As you will soon be. Don't forget that both your fates are mine to do with as I wish," his words rumble sharply.

Sarah brushes her hair back, wincing at the pain in her wrists that still bleed past the congealed blood forming around the wounds. With squared shoulders and ignoring how utterly defeated she is, she spins on the soles of her feet, leaning against the glass to stare at the Goblin King encased in grey moonlight and grinning with triumph. If this were dream, she would admire the look of masculine satisfaction on his face in that moment, the possessive nature that broods within him. Because she could have easily laughed at it, and left him in another oubliette if she liked. It doesn't bode well that she still itches to touch him, to taste him once again, after everything. Who was she to find moral imperfections in the few things that pleased her, though?

"You rescinded your own game. I thought you'd at least be a little fun," he mocks the words she used on him once.

"You misinterpreted my offer," she coos back, though she is desperately refraining from snapping harshly at his mockery of her weakness.

He laughs, his entire being relaxed, amused, delighted even.

"You'll have to learn quicker than that, if you think to escape me, Sarah," he purrs her name as he approaches her, encasing her against the glass with one hand on the glass behind her, another snatching one of her wrists in a painful grip.

Sarah stifles a wince as he inspects the open wound, his benevolent air sharpening just slightly. His grip tightens, and her lips part in a pained gasp. Those striking eyes meet hers, and he presses harder against the broken skin, catching the next gasp of pain as he steals a kiss, sharp tongue forcing between her lips as the clawed thumb presses into the open wound, piercing her, and she whimpers despite her best efforts to stifle any further show of weakness. Jareth releases her without so much as a smug look in her direction as he turns away from her. A glance down reveals only a mild redness against her fair skin, not the broken, bloody mess of skin as before but now healed.

"Shall we play one of my games now, Sarah?" he asks as if trying to be charming, his depraved amusement setting her on edge. Sarah glares at him, alarm fluttering in her gut at his calm demeanor.

"Is this a part of it?" Sarah begins to spin a strand of hair around her finger, curling tightly with the thrum of anxiety pulsating through her. "Let me guess, I now owe you a favor?" She smiles tauntingly holding up her wrists, though she feels condemned.

"No." Jareth's tone is still unnervingly calm, eyes watching her as she begins to move about the room slowly, circling around him.

"The last time I required your help, you demanded payment," Sarah continues her dainty steps about the room, unable to stay still any longer as her body vibrates with anticipation for what's to come next.

"Circumstances were different then."

He makes no other admission, leaving her to piece together what that meant. What had been different? She considers all three circumstances in which Jareth has relieved her of her binding circumstances. The woods, the Doctor's home, and now the dungeon and her self-inflicted wounds. Yet two out of those three instances he's not addressed a form of payment. What was different about the latter two? Sarah's eyes are flickering in thought as she recalls every moment, every word. Perhaps it was in her words that she'd bound herself to his debts?

"Is it because I did not ask for, nor accept, your help?"

Jareth's eyes narrow on her, a chafing smile forming. She can't decipher if he is amused or annoyed by her. There _were_ power in words when it came to the Goblin King. Which meant he'd known both times he would gain nothing by helping her. He'd gifted her on more than one occasion, like some dark angel that had the cravings and desires of a demonic being. Was it by choice? Or did his obsession compel him to do these things?

"Why would you offer something freely? We both know you have 'many things' you want from me," Sarah's own tone became challenging, returning to lean against the cold window, like ice to the wound it eases her aching frame.

"Please, Sarah. I'm sure you've pieced together that I cannot, by design or accident, harm you while you are my captive. My reasons were far less noble than you may hope for."

Sarah watches him as he speaks, the razor edges of him returning so quickly, still sharp as ever. He could be lying. Hadn't she been the cause of her own pain? He could have ignored it, let her suffer.

"Careless liars" she coos softly as she arches her hips just so, leaving just the blades of her shoulders on the glass behind her. His eyes follow her movement and his magic brushes her skin in response. Thomas's words ring in her head, but she brushes them aside and persists. "You had no reasons to intervene with the Doctor. In fact, you had no reason to intervene tonight either. It was my game. You didn't even bind me to it, allowing me to run away. Then you healed me, with wounds I inflicted on myself. Am I beginning to grow on you, Goblin King? Have you decided not to let me suffer?" she mocks him, grin spreading on her face.

Jareth is inches before her in the blink of an eyes, one hand on the window again, another brushing down her sternum, as he often did, with that forcible restraint she could practically feel.

"The only scars I will allow on this body of yours, are the ones _I_ inflict. Not by you, and certainly not by your former Doctor. I will count and kiss them at my leisure, I will heal them if only to inflict them again and again, and you will come to beg me for them." He nearly whispers the words, a razors edge of fury lashing out at her boldness, and Sarah could have almost fooled herself to think that she'd… hit a nerve.

Emboldened by the thought, she smirks.

"Don't you have a game for us, Jareth?"

He cocks a head at her, and she knows she's baffled him once more.

"Let's play," he rumbles, a gesture of his hands revealing a pair of ruby red die as he drops into the leather chair he'd sat in when she'd first arrived here, the memory seeming so long ago now.

"What's the game?" Sarah asks, forcing a calmness in her tone, putting herself on the couch where she'd arrived.

Jareth rolls the die in his palm with expert precision, before rolling them atop the table before her, the pair landing on snake-eyes.

"The game is simple. If you roll a seven or an eleven, you'll live to see another day in the Aboveground. This time, I also intend to reward your winnings with a gift. However, if you roll a two, a three or a twelve, then I want the gift you stole off with, and your submission." Blue eyes take on a dangerous glint of silver in them, his tone taking an ominous dip as he speaks.

"If I win, then when will you return me to the Aboveground?" Her eyes narrow on him, and his smirk only grows.

"I'm afraid I will be unable to return you until the next wished away child calls for me, it is such an exerting feat after all," he smiles, sharp teeth baring.

"Unable, or simply unwilling?" she bites back with that false, sugary tinge on her voice that always earns her the sharpest of looks from him.

"Regardless, these are the terms." He appears calm, brushing off her attempts to taunt his temper now, but she can see the faint rigidity in his shoulders.

"And this gift you speak of?" Sarah continues, sensing that there will be no advantage to trying to argue with him after her failed attempt to set her own game into play earlier this evening.

"I can assure you it will bring you no harm." He smiles, but she doesn't trust him for a second, and her fingers curl in reflex to his predatory stare.

"What if you alter the die after I roll them" Sarah asks flippantly, proud she doesn't sound as anxious as she feels, yet.

"If I alter the pieces, the game is invalid. While I may deceive you, I can never truly cheat you, like some penny mongering con, Sarah."

Sarah nods, glaring at him with open distrust as she picks up the die. They're heavy, beautiful to the eye, and she assumes they've been cut from real rubies. Just as before, she doesn't hesitate to seal her fate, releasing the pair in a steady roll across the table top. A three and a four stare back at them. His smile is nearly a sneer now, but he's relaxed remarkably for someone who has just lost.

"Don't look so displeased, Jareth," Sarah reclines as well. "You promised to return me when the next child is wished away. I'm sure that gives you a few days more of me. Or perhaps a week?" She chuckles, so very pleased with herself.

He cocks his head, amusement lighting the already sharpened features of his face.

"Poor, unfortunate little Sarah. The last wished away was your little Toby. And before you? Well it had been at least two hundred years since anyone had been so foolish as to call on me."

Sarah felt the air escape her. Two hundred years? She'd be dead long before then.

"Now, about that gift," he purrs softly, suddenly pouncing on her in one fluid movement.

Cold hands latched onto her arms, and while she should have fought to escape his grip, her shock left her unprepared for force of magic that jolted through her like fire. It was painful, and she wanted to scream but she couldn't move as his magic pulsates through her veins, as if he were branding her from the inside out. When darkness took her, she followed the escape of this pain willingly.

* * *

 **Thank you to everyone for the reviews so far - really enjoy reading them and hearing your perspectives!**

 **I would also like to respond to a few comments/questions regarding the premise of the story.**

 **First, this version of Sarah is not (and will never be) a run and hide character. She's erratic and brave and genuinely foolish, but she's not a timid mouse by any means. She has issues, and she's evolved because of trauma and uses it as a weapon against Jareth.**

 **Additionally, no apologies for writing a female character who is comfortable with, and aware of, her sexuality. I think it's one of my favorite things about this character, to understand the manipulation and twisted desire behind these two male figures in her life. In her own way, she sharpens the blade of something so twisted only to turn it back on the men who attempted to use it against her. It's a game she believes she is owed, and she gains power from their weaknesses.**

 **That is really all - please continue to review :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**I always enjoy updating this fic, it just sort of writes itself.**

 **I do not own any of Jim Henson's work.**

 **Warnings: some violence, language, sexual situations**

* * *

 _Steal my blood and steal my heart_  
 _Whatever it takes to get you off_

 _In my bones and in my soul_  
 _Always be in your control_

 _Bitch, Allie X_

* * *

Rain is an ever present company these last few days, and he finds it humorous that his Labyrinth is reacting so negatively to his champion's presence, as if it can sense her and weeps for her suffering. His kingdom shall flood before he decides to care.

Time moves slowly in her presence, a pinnacle to his never ending existence, a distraction - even if only briefly. For someone as old and powerful as he, death is a fascination - an experience he'll never willingly seek but will most likely never endure either, something he merely gifts to others. He despises that her existence is so limited, while he continues to age and warp over centuries, his mind tangling over memories, losing himself amidst the clutter. His mortal could simply cease to exist so easily, as frail as she is. Their games could end before he has even begun to truly enjoy them.

That thought stirs him, lancing like a blade between his ribs, a disconcerting realization. His hunger is warping yet again - into what, he isn't entirely sure. Warm arms embrace an icy body, shaky breaths against a frigid chest, as his champion sleeps curled around him. The pain was too much for her, he'd forgotten the rumored misery of the experience…

He cringes, unsure why he can't simply enjoy her pain as he'd longed to all this time. He smothers the irritation over the matter with self-serving disregard, slowly stroking black locks between his fingers, mimicking the mortal's nervous habit that she thinks he doesn't notice, enjoying the motion he's often envied her frail fingers of.

Frailty… oh yes, she was frail. Fierce, foolish, young and ill-mannered. All things he could fix in time. He catches himself in the thought, as if he intended to mold her instead of break her. _As if you would make her something more than a mere treat_ , his mind whispers, mocking him for such a thought. His salacious grin spreads. What a devil he is to entertain such ideas.

As he has proven, his intentions are always for his own benefit. Such a fragile thing, his Sarah. He simply couldn't have that. So he'd stolen her frailty from her, gifted her something in return. _What a foolish thing to have done_ , he chuckles darkly to himself. Foolish, but delightful. A never-ending game between them.

There is now a piece of light within the black depths inside of him. It burns uncomfortably, but he finds the sensation pleasing. It will remain a part of him until the day he claws it out of his chest, this little piece of white light, so pure and innocent. It delights him even now as he rubs the part of his chest above his heart, feeling the sensation bloom and mingle with his potent darkness. He wonders if she will feel this burn too, or if she will feel the chill of his being instead. Her body is still warm, much to his pleasure. He hadn't been sure if she'd grow cold with the change. He enjoys her warm-blooded nature, another piece of her he often craves.

A whimper escapes pink lips, a tell of more of her broken dreams. There are reasons she has only slept when he had forced it upon her since her arrival. Had he been a weaker being, he would have studied her dreams, learned what had been done to her to make her mind so restless, her behaviors so erratic and impulsive, yet so brazen and unyielding. But he wasn't, and he wouldn't. It didn't matter in the end.

Sarah sits up suddenly, black hair in tangled tresses falling around a petrified face, eyes stark with sleep and disorientation. He ignores his body's reaction to the cold when her warm limbs leave him. She doesn't seem to be awake, her eyes lifeless even as she pats her cheeks with nimble fingers that come away glistening with remnants of tears. She laughs, amused by something.

"My darling creature," he purrs lowly from his pillow, a wolfish grin spreading on his lips – despite himself, he's missed her repartee while she's recovered. "Bad dreams?"

Jareth tugs her onto his lap as he sits up against the massive headboard, enjoying how very compliant his precious creature is in her dreamy state. She straddles him without resistance, arms lifeless at her sides as he draws one wrist to his lips and brushes it with a kiss, her pulse slow and rhythmic against the skin. She doesn't acknowledge him, still unaware to the world around her.

"Shouldn't cry," she whispers to herself, "Loves it when I cry."

Jareth runs his tongue along her cheek, the track of tears dissolving against his tongue, the delectable taste of her skin igniting hunger in his blood. _Taste like sugar_ , she'd said to him, though she is sweeter and more addictive like ambrosia.

"Your tears only sweeten you, darling," his voice rumbles.

"He thinks they're adorable, likes them more than my screams," she mumbles, green eyes thickly fogging.

Jareth pieces together her meaning - a reference to the Doctor. She whimpers then, he hadn't noticed his grip tightening against her hips. So the Doctor likes his victims timid and crying? How unfortunate for him that Jareth prefers them screaming.

His champion is still lost in her daze as he grasps her by the nape and draws her closer to him, running his tongue along her lips before nipping and kissing her slowly. He aches, and his bodily instinct is to shove her away in irritation over the matter, but her precious tongue flicks out to taste him in return and he allows it, quite enjoying himself.

"I like your taste. Makes me forget," she whispers softly, delicate fingers slowly rubbing the spot above her heart now, a soft furrow of her brows in confusion.

An unfamiliar tug in his chest makes his claws sharpen, startling his attention away from her movements. Jareth rolls her to her back, studying the creature with dual eyes. She's soft beneath him, legs cradling him now. The idea to wake her from her state and indulge makes him growl, pressing into her fully as he takes her lips once more. She's gotten better at receiving his advances, receptive and learning with every time he falls prey to her allure and indulges. Her hips push up to meet his, the grind pulling a hiss from him. It's becoming painful, these teasing moments, but he loses himself in her, working her up with measured thrusts, grinding his aching length against her damp, heated core till she's drowsily writhing beneath him, fervently kissing him back as she clutches him. He could make her come like this, half-asleep and so pleasing. Not a full, mind numbing release, but a soft, edge-setting release to leave her aching for him - begging for him. Then, when he was inside her, he would let her shatter.

But if he indulges now... no, that wouldn't do. To have this waif of a thing, so young and reckless, sitting alongside his throne? Like an equal? The usual anger and resentment floods him, but the first flicker of doubt singes his black heart as he realizes his vendetta is growing less enticing than his other desires.

He pulls away sharply, severing their contact. He isn't thinking clearly. She is breathing heavily, eyes fluttering closed, pink lips reddening, dark hair spilling over his sheets. Still stuck in her dream world, body still exhausted from the gift he's given her.

With a vile curse, Jareth vanishes from his room to find distraction and release elsewhere.

* * *

Who knew the King of her nightmares had an obsession with barely-there, presumably expensive lingerie?

 _Arrogant, depraved Goblin King_.

She rolls her eyes at the red, lace bralette and skimpy thong that is no more than a string that she's been dressed in while she slept, obviously for his own amusement.

Feeling warm and energetic in a way that tingled her bones, she had awoken in his bed, sheets mussed from one corner to the next, an obvious sign of her distressed sleep - though she remembered none of her dreams.

Had he slept here beside her after cleaning and dressing her? The image of Jareth in such a vulnerable position as sleep makes her scowl, a brutally human picture of him in her mind that dares to distort her vision of him and all his power. In a flurry of movements less fluid than usual - finding her knees locking and her head drowsy - Sarah pounces from the warmth of the bed and scans for her captor. There's the sound of cascading water in the en-suite bathroom, and she perks up instantly. Perhaps she should repay him for watching her bathe. A perfect opportunity to regain her footing in their little sparring match.

But how to assert herself as an opponent after such a wounding loss? These garments wouldn't do. No, he wouldn't be getting a single ounce of pleasure in seeing her like this. She strolls casually to his chest of drawers and steels out one of his white blouses, pulling it over her head and rolling the sleeves. It swallows her and she grins, amused at how vastly more erotic this feels than prancing in undergarments before him ever had. Touching his things felt forbidden, a trickle of thrill in the action of it, her rebellious nature rearing its ugly head and filling her with luscious adrenaline. He thought to trap her for another two hundred years? Ha! He'll forsake her long before then, and she would savor every second of his torment until that moment.

Sarah saunters into his bathroom, eyeing him in the shower across from her, the glass fogged from the heat of the water. He must have already sensed her movements, because his own gaze locks on her expectantly as she comes around the corner. Obviously anticipating her arrival in something more enticing, his gaze roams over her from head to toe, a flare of black in the depths of icy blue before locking eyes with her with a very vivid _'are you fucking kidding me'_ glare. So he didn't approve of her sticky fingers pilfering through his wardrobe? _Perfect_. She grins brightly, nibbling on her bottom lip to resist a snicker.

"Just trying to smother my heathen-like nature, Jareth. Isn't that what you wanted?" she spins in place, showing off the billowy shirt like a pretty dress.

Jareth refuses to entertain his elicit thoughts as she shows off for him. Her voice is a serene, her smile tinged with something truly deviant. Perhaps she's finally brought out the claws he so very much likes. Enticing little minx.

"In my chambers, I'll keep you as I like. If you tempt me, I'll simply keep you naked, like the heathens of old," he drawls, lathering himself in suds and taking his measured time with it.

Sarah watches him do so, regrettably enjoying the view. She's never seen anyone so naked before, aside from herself, and she is fascinated by how riveting she finds the mere sight of water sluicing down his chiseled features. Her tongue presses to the roof of her mouth, tempted to follow those trails eagerly on its own. Nothing about him resembles the men of her past, he was an alien where they were pigs, different in quality and design but not necessarily better in nature. Still yet, his wickedness has its own draw, like an enchanted, crisp red apple in the hands of a starving victim, all too tempting to bite and taste - even at the risk of death. He did nothing to hide himself from her, perhaps enjoying her study of him… The thought snaps her from her delectable view, eyes narrowing on his once more.

"Care to explain what you did to me last night?" she asks, approaching the glass with slow steps.

"Last night?" he chuckles, and it is rich – a flicker of amusement more genuine than it is deadly. "I'm afraid you've been out for several days, pet."

"Days?" her breath catches in her throat, "I slept for days?"

"Are you so opposed to nourishing your body that even sleep appalls you?"

"Perhaps I've simply developed an inclination to never be so vulnerable within the proximity of evil men," she bit back tartly before she could catch the words on her tongue.

Jareth's features grow stone cold at her words. Perhaps he avoids considering what had been done to her by the good Doctor and didn't appreciate the reminders. If the truth enraged him… well that certainly shouldn't please her.

"What did you do to me?" her voice is a low hum as she changes the topic, a pretense for her stifling curiosity.

The water stops, and he steps out into full view. His body is… captivating. She can't draw her eyes from him fast enough, trailing over every plain of his chest, stomach and then the obviously straining erection between his legs. Heat flares in her gut, a clenching between her legs, and her tongue swipes across her lower lip unconsciously before meeting his gaze once more. He tilts his head at her, flashing teeth in a smile that is more a warning, as if to remind her of who she is ogling. He dries himself with a white towel, striding toward her with a grace only he seems to capture, stopping when he is inches away to lean in close and invade her space, perhaps to stifle her confidence by using her innocence against her once more. He should know better by now, innocence was a shackle she no longer bears.

"Aren't you quick to the point, my darling creature," his own tone is sizzling, apparently not so unaffected by her greedy eyes. "As I promised, I gave you a gift."

Sarah turns to fully face him, fighting the heat in her cheeks and the urge to dip her gaze lower.

"Tell me," she asks prettily, absolutely petrified to know, dying to find out.

"I've made you immortal, Sarah. After all, I did promise to return you home. Alive." He is grinning so darkly at her. Her brain short circuits as it processes this news.

"You're lying," she accuses with a careless air, dismissing his words as though it were the easiest thing in the world to do. An ache begins in her chest, subtle at first, and she finds her fingers absentmindedly rubbing the spot on her chest to assuage the icy sensation as it grows.

Jareth's hands are suddenly on the collar of the shirt she wears, and in one fluid move he rips it down the front before removing it from her entirely. His eyes graze over the sight of her before he spins her in spot to face the floor length mirror behind her. One hand on her shoulder, the other clasping her neck, locking her in his embrace as he stares at her in the glass.

"You can already see its effects on you," his words heat against her ear. Her eyes graze over her own frame, as if she would find some kind of infallible mark to identify this change.

Instead she sees herself. But she is… glowing. It's subtle, but she can see her bones are not jutting quite so much anymore from beneath her skin that is now a lovely glow of porcelain instead of the ghastly pale as before, and her cheeks have a color that's more natural to them, the bruises under her eyes gone, and her hair looks healthy, vibrant. It's nothing exceptional, but surely what she'd have developed naturally had she not been subjected to the institution for years.

"I'll still expect you to fill yourself out, my precious thing. The Doctor and his medicines may have riddled you bare to the bone, but you've allowed this," he trails his fingers from her neck down to the band of her thong in a slow stroke, "To whither in your own foolish negligence of it since escaping him."

He was chastising her appetite and insomnia even as he gazes at her as though he were desperate to devour her in that moment. Her mind is still too fuzzy processing what he's done to her to retaliate. Like the fog crystallizing into ice on the windows surrounding them, so too does the ice inside of her thicken and burn like dry ice, evicting any remaining sensibility amidst the scattered remnants of her lucidity. For the briefest of seconds, she feels consumed by something far darker than herself, something more powerful.

"Careful, Jareth," her voice is a husky, lethal melody of warning. "Someone might think you're beginning to care."

"What good are you to me if you die from some mortal ailment? I ensured to eradicate the possibility. However, I welcome your attempts of retribution," a razor sharp smile flashes in the mirror, his desire dissipating behind the challenge, before turning from her and continuing into his chambers.

"Careful what you wish for, Goblin King," she whispers to herself, fingers curling painfully into her palms.

* * *

Fucking immortal. Of course he had. Why not ensure she lived an eternity, ensnared or hunted, to reflect what she'd done to him - ensnared and haunted. She was so very sick of losing say over her existence and the manner in which she lived it. So very sick of being trapped, coerced, toyed with. She could never return home now, and they both knew it. What would she say when her family aged, when Toby became an adult, and she remained an eighteen year old girl?

"How did this happen?" Thomas is perhaps more so appalled than she is by this turn of events. Not surprising, the man seems incapable of deciding who irks him more – Sarah or his King.

Jareth left her in her little hole of a room hours ago. It could have been days really, the light never changes outside her window so she can't be sure how much time has passed. Thomas was the only break in the ice of her captivity, and her mind had worked itself into a festering, chaotic mess by then.

Thomas jerks roughly on the laces of the corseted dress Jareth sent for her to wear tonight to his little dinner party. Sarah coughs, the air knocked right out of her as he finishes. It had taken several failed attempts to dress herself before the man brusquely interjected, yet surprisingly he avoided touching her as he assisted, not even an accidental brush of the fingers. Had he noticed her aversion to touch?

"Oh, you mean this wasn't part of the master plan behind my abduction and eventual torture and mutilation?" she bites back, acidic words dipped in sugar.

Thomas frowns at her in the mirror from behind as he straightens his own shirt, a begrudging approval in his eyes. This gown was designed to entice, the crimson red like fresh blood against her skin. Its corseted waist and thickly gathered skirt make her look beyond her years, and eons more seductive than she was capable of on her own.

"Jareth does as he pleases. I simply find it hard to believe he would bind his being to yours when his intentions for you have been made so clear."

Sarah chokes on her next breath. "What did you say?"

Thomas nods. "Imagine snipping a hole out of your soul, and replacing it with a piece of his own. You live eternally now, because he does. A bond like this is considered sacred, yet he wastes it on someone so undeserving." Thomas doesn't even have to try to cut at her the way Jareth does. Somehow, his genuine sentiments toward her inadequacies are more annoying.

"No. I'll cut it back out, extinguish any part of him from myself," she can feel her chest restricting as the ringing begins again. _Don't lose it now, can't lose it now._

Thomas steps closer, that familiar Fae chill brushing against her exposed shoulders with his proximity. He levels his eyes on her, and she imagines he would have snatched her by the shoulders to shake her but is resisting.

"Do not reject the bond. It will poison you, kill you, if you do not accept the change within you. Don't even think of it as something other than a piece of you now," his words are moderate, not as harsh, but they're no less condemning.

His hate doesn't seep so low that he would allow her ignorance to kill her. At least there was that – a bond over her survival, if anything. Thomas gives her a curt once over, nodding with approval before extending an arm for her to take. Sarah raises an eyebrow at him, a mocking twitch on her lips at his gentlemanly gesture.

Thomas drops it instantly with a grumbling, "Come, before we're late."

* * *

"I always cherish these intimate visits, my Lord," a pretty blonde is sighing over her wine.

Sarah snorts into her own glass. This 'intimate' visit involved a total of twenty guests seated at a massive table and presently enjoying their fourth course of the night. Jareth sits at the head, the blonde to his right, Thomas to his left, and Sarah beside Thomas. Dual eyes pin her with narrow gaze at the noise, but she merely smiles sweetly back at him, licking the wine off her lips. Jareth has entertained this woman's attentions all night, disgustingly musing over her and all her tiresome gossip and self-indulging remarks.

Sarah can't recall if this the same as the one she met at the ball. Jareth seems to have a preference for blonde hair, blue eyes and this one could be one of many he entertains himself with.

She stabs a carrot on her plate, but doesn't bother eating it. She's ignored every course thus far, mostly out of spite. Her ire is mounting with every passing second, and she is itching for a fight. Her mind is a working machine, churning up a strategy of pure idiocrasy in her eroding state of mind. The revelation of what he'd done to her is disturbing, his complete disregard for her, his amusement with her powerless state. It's all just sizing up to be an utter meltdown on her side of the court.

"Is there an issue with the foods my cooks have provided, Sarah?"

Jareth's direct question startles her. He'd ensured her lips were locked once more with one of his crystals before they'd entered the dining hall, and neither he nor anyone else had deigned her with more than a few leering glances all night.

"I'm sure it's delicious," she hums spitefully.

"Then eat it." His command is sharp, and the startled stares from those around her only delight her.

She takes the carrot she'd impaled and takes a refined bite, just enough to make him bristle at her insolence, before pushing her plate away once more.

"Are you watching your figure, Defeater?" blondie asks, a sly curl to her perfect lips, her blue eyes sharp and calculating behind delicate lashes.

"Just saving room for dessert. I have a craving for something sweet," Sarah gives Jareth a siren's smile, batting her lashes with lethal _kill-you-in-your-sleep_ eyes. His jaw clenches. The woman glances between the pair, a ruffle in her demeanor with her apparent dislike of whatever is crackling between them.

"Sweets will hardly sustain you. However will we invite you to the King's bed if you don't build your strength?" she chuckles merrily, as if she's told some kind of joke, several others chuckling darkly around her. Sarah sees red for a moment, but her mask of bored-temptress is still holding strong amidst her mounting fury.

"My darling creature is far too innocent for such games, Bianka," Jareth gives the woman a devious grin, brushing the back of his hand along the curve of the woman's nearly exposed breasts.

She swoons into his attentions, distracted for the moment, but he's already locked his eyes on Sarah once more. She ignores him, faking a yawn and patting her lips with her hand in a show of boredom.

"Defeater, perhaps you would like to make a recommendation for dessert?" Thomas asks, derailing the conversation.

Sarah blinks at the man. More surprises from the second-hand man today. Sarah taps her chin in thought, scrunching her features comically, though an idea had already trickled into her mind that had her giddy from the inside out.

"You know, Thomas, since you asked, I think s'mores sound absolutely mouthwatering."

A tension seems to have stolen through her captor. Jareth's gaze settles on Thomas briefly, a look of warning, or perhaps irritation.

"Oh! An Aboveground treat, how exciting," Bianka's tinkling voice grates Sarah's ears.

Surprisingly, plates with graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows are instantly rolled out, little candles at every plate for roasting them. Sarah wastes no time charring her first one to a crisp, ignoring the other ingredients and devouring the charred, gooey fluff in one bite. She licks the remnants from sticky fingers, ignoring everyone around her in favor of the treat.

"Your human has a lovely tongue, my Lord," the man beside her is grinning as he speaks, watching her every movement as she repeats with a second marshmallow. His insinuation only ignites her, adding to the growing chill inside of her that is beginning to consume her thoughts. This darkness was like a manifestation of her own, usual dark thoughts. Something more provocative and addictive, something more powerful.

 _Ears ringing. Heart racing. Nails itching to claw._

"She needn't remain so innocent," Bianka agrees, her tone a deep purr. She reaches a hand across the table to touch Sarah's face. Sarah forces her body to remain still, ignoring how sickly the contact will make her feel, her fingernails dig into the tender flesh of her thigh, biting skin through the thick skirt to avoid backhanding the woman away from her.

"Do not _touch_ my possessions, unless you wish to lose one of your lovely hands," Jareth's smooth voice holds no ounce of emotion, yet the silken words held no less of a threat.

The woman pulls back sharply, elegantly folding her hands back into her lap. Jealousy is alight in the woman's eyes, and Sarah speculates she is a favored mistress, one with idealistic hope of becoming more and despising anything that stands in her way of that. 'Anything' presently being the dark haired heathen at the table.

Sarah, incapable of speaking, pops a third marshmallow in her mouth, licking her lips clean with obvious disregard for the woman's insecurities.

"Defeater, this is how you roast a marshmallow. Whoever taught you to burn such a tasty treat?" Thomas asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension around them, barely lifting his eyes from the marshmallow he is meticulously roasting to a golden brown. Sarah's lips twitch, amused for once over something other than Jareth's torment.

"What can I say? I like them black and bitter, like my heart," she coos, lighting another marshmallow on fire. Thomas's cheek twitches, fighting a reaction to her response.

* * *

Sarah watches with passive disdain for the after-party unfolding before her. The music, the laughter and drinking - it all bristles against her nerves, a sinister malcontent solidifying with every passing moment. The ice, it burns in her chest, and she's begun to suspect that this frigid sensation is the piece of himself that Jareth 'gifted' her. Her skin has reddened from rubbing at the spot, but cold only grows with each passing moment. It was likely due to her inability to accept it, as Thomas had told her to. It is foreign, it _feels_ foreign, and she wants none of it, even as she recognizes the terribly sinister darkness that seeps from it like a heady drug.

"I am prettier than you." Bianka's voice pulls her from her watchful gaze. It's more factual than spiteful as she appraises Sarah.

Sarah smiles smartly at the woman, before dropping the smile into a look of disregard.

"How cold you are, for such a warm blooded creature," Bianka muses. "Perhaps that is why you warmed the King's bed these last few days, while he in turn warmed mine."

Sarah blinks back at the woman. Bianka was grinning, obviously intent on slicing away at Sarah's _feeble_ human feelings. Sarah laughs. Loudly, excessively, the noise growing into something raucous as Sarah feels the last of her sensibilities shatter in favor of her more treacherous thoughts, the darkness spilling into her heart. The woman frowns, confused, before simply disappearing.

Without a single pair of eyes on her, forgotten to her silence, Sarah silently stands, maneuvering just so as she turns and makes her way to her destination so that no one notices the candle lit within her hands.

* * *

Screams. Panic. For being immortal beings they certainly had a lack of courage in the face of a minor catastrophe. Of course, the throne room – surprisingly easy to find from the dining hall - succumbing to the engulfing inferno within it perhaps was not considered a minor catastrophe. Nor was the curling smoke filling the halls, muffling the chaotic chatter and fear amongst the revelers.

Sarah had to admit, she was impressed with how very flammable everything had proven to be, and she'd only singed her gown in a handful of places, a few blisters forming on her fingers, a smudge of soot on her nose and cheek.

Jareth stands at the entrance of his throne room, several tension thick moments passing before he waves a hand over the space, extinguishing the flames entirely in one gust, leaving behind black char and ash. He turns slowly, eyes scanning for her and her breath catches in… excitement? Anticipation? Perhaps this is what insanity feels like. His guests dissipate in fear, as if a silent warning had scared them off, the teetering control radiating from him growing dense in the air.

Sarah leans against the wall not twenty feet from him, casually eating another blackened marshmallow, preening at him, unmistakably pleased with herself. Despite the fact that his body language and features depict imminent death, she keeps a level gaze with him as he prowls towards her. Thomas traces between the pair, shoulders squaring and back to her. She chuckles in delight at this turn of events.

"Perhaps I should deliver the human to a cell, until you've decided what's to be done with her," his firm voice is so rationally calm between the mounting cloud of Jareth's temper, and the uninhibited, vindictive human behind him.

"Leave us, Thomas," Jareth's voice is surprisingly lit with amusement, but his eyes are blades of silver.

Instead of tracing away as the others had, Thomas widens his stance. Sarah had to give it to the man, he couldn't stand her, yet he was imperiling his life to stop his King from his next move.

Jareth flashes a predator's smirk at the man, tracing around him and solidifying an inch in front of her. Sarah glances up with big, doe eyes, an innocent mask in place. She brought the last of her sticky fingers to her mouth to lick away the marshmallow bits, but Jareth caught her wrist, drawing the finger between his own lips, hot tongue licking away the sugary confection as he sucks on it. Lust floods her, eyes glazing with desire even as her fury builds behind her serene demeanor. He releases the finger with a sharp bite on the pad of her fingertip, moving his grip to frame her neck in his hand. A sudden tingling down her throat – ah, he's removed her seal.

"How very… _foolish_ of you, Sarah," he speaks lowly, a husky timber sweeping over her skin.

"Oops, you're right. I'd intended to burn down the whole kingdom," she gives him a boo-hoo pout. "To err is human," she sighs disappointingly, ignoring his grip tightening around her neck.

He laughs harshly, but it is strained and fragmented through the restraint he is using not to irreparably harm her.

"Do you think I will not destroy you, as I have every runner before you? Do you think defeating my Labyrinth makes you untouchable?" He brushes his nose over hers, as if he can't help himself from touching her.

"That's just it though, isn't it? That I _am_ so untouchable," Sarah says, running her finger along the sharp expanse of his chin. "Seems to me like your just a sore loser, Jareth," she laughs coldly, smiling even as cold fingers cease the flow of oxygen to her lungs, the eyes of a madman the last thing she sees as his restraint finally snaps.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **To address some themes and questions -**

 _ **J/S jealousy factors:**_

 **Sarah's jealousy is much more an indication of her youth, and slightly childish in nature. It is more so directed at the idea that there are potentially other defeaters of the Labyrinth, that she isn't special in that sense, and that Jareth's infatuation with her holds no significance. Less so on the aspect that he's sleeping around with other women, though that too irks her - if she is to be controlled by possessive men, why do they get to flounce around and dally with other women? Tit for tat.**

 **Jareth's jealousy is more defined. He's possessive and considers her his due for the havoc she's wrought on him. He doesn't like that she's been abused by another, for various reasons. So the fact that Sarah laughs at him, an all powerful being, and unravels for a mortal Doctor gets under his skin. She has associated the Doctor with despair and pain, while she associates Jareth with amusement.**

 _ **Will J/S end up together:**_

 **This relationship is built on warped feelings for one another, and they both are channeling those feelings in whatever way pleases them presently. Whether they'll end up together, you'll have to keep reading to find out :)**

 **Also, I really enjoy some of the comparisons you all have made regarding this version of Sarah. Winona Rider especially, she is one of my favorite actresses of all time - I adore her and everything she has ever done so I love that some of this Sarah's traits resemble her.**

 **Side note - I am in the process of getting my AOO account up and going, so I'll hopefully have that completed over the weekend - really excited to try their site out!**

 **Keep those reviews coming - I enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing these chapters!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Finally, a bit of an update to this story. Can't promise I'll be making regular updates on here, but wanted to get this piece out there since it was done! Hope you all enjoy, and if you're following my other story - Immortal Ties - please don't hate me for getting this chapter posted first. This one was on my mind for a while, so I figured if I got it posted I wouldn't have as much trouble completing the other!**

 **As always, I own nothing of Jim Henson's work.**

* * *

 _I know your type, black lights and leather tights_

 _You're black ice on the road on a drunken summer night_

 _I cannot bear to love you any less than you need_

 _I cannot hold you, I cannot bear to lose the bruises that you leave_

 _Wasted, Rainbow Kitten Surprise_

* * *

Jareth studies the fragile lines of her face, that delicately spiteful grin still etched in her lips as she lie unconscious at his feet. His poor, infuriated pet, to test him so shamelessly and create such a scene before his guests. What a mess she's made just to retaliate against him. His own temper has faded to the background of his bemusement, but only just. Undoubtedly, his cravings demand that he keep her alive in order to sate them, so there is little debate on the matter these days. The realization disturbs him though, that he could so easily forget himself in the midst of her taunts and simply undo her existence. Does she seek to draw him to such a perilous ending? Surely this madness is nothing if but the precipice of such a fatal fall. How clever a creature she may be if she's surmised the ruin her own death would evoke upon him. Jareth relaxes his shoulders as he shakes himself from the thought. He's ensured she's incapable of an easy death, so long as their bond remains.

"How you exhaust me, you precious thing," he smiles as he speaks to himself, though there's a glint of unease in his eyes.

"I suppose you'll be expecting me to clean up the mess of this incident?"

A stiff tone reverberates through the hall. Jareth laughs, having almost forgotten the man standing behind him.

"As though you don't enjoy terrifying my subjects with your strict enforcement of court principles, Thomas. The gossipers will _shudder_ should they ruffle _your_ feathers." Jareth drawls, mocking the advisor as he continues to study Sarah's even breathing at his feet.

Thomas tugs on the cuffs of his shirt, a tell of his clear irritation.

"Fae creatures are flighty characters. I don't believe half your current court was around the last time I snatched the tongues out of the worst of the offenders. Quite a memorable mess, though it was."

Jareth cocks his head at the man. "Is there something else you wish to say, Thomas? You once savored such disciplinary actions."

Thomas levelled a gaze at the King, pulling himself up from the wall where he'd been leaning.

"I wonder what the point would be to punish your subjects, when your intentions with this human are far from clear. They will gossip regardless. I should at least understand _what_ I am punishing them for."

"Should you really be concerning yourself with that?" Jareth's smile widens at the man's obvious disapproval.

"You didn't kill her," Thomas states flatly, almost accusingly.

Jareth's eyes glint sharply, but his smile remains. "Have I disappointed you, Thomas?"

"I find your methods to ensnare the girl problematic, yes. Your time is nearly up."

Jareth's grin fell slightly at that, his eyes narrowing. "You know I enjoy torturing my prey as much as I savour devouring them."

Thomas ignores the obvious deflection from his King, and persists in making his point.

"Perhaps you should reconsider your purpose for her. After all, a King has no sins to hide. Not even a betrothal to a human, one gifted to him by a rather powerful entity."

A dark humor lit Jareth's face as he pinned the man with a sinister glare. The movement is a flurry of shadows, the air slices with the movement and the scent of fresh blood joins the stench of char. Jareth inspects his now bloody claws, standing just a foot away from Thomas, whose cheek runs red. Thomas hasn't even flinched from the pain, but Jareth chuckles regardless at the trickle of blood falling upon Thomas's crisp white shirt.

"I didn't believe you capable of humor, Thomas. But should you speak of this again, I'll ensure you regret it."

Thomas shrugs, his cool demeanor appearing as though he couldn't care less what the King did with his thoughts on the matter. He approached the unconscious Sarah and carefully pulled her into his arms, ignoring Jareth's raised eyebrow as he did so.

As he turned to take his leave, he left one last thought behind him with his King.

"She's likely incapable of forgiving your transgressions toward her as it were, I suppose. I've never seen a Queen carry bruises quite so shamelessly."

* * *

Like poison to his mind are Thomas' words. It shouldn't infuriate him to hear the thoughts he's possessed himself these past few days spoken out loud, yet it sends him spinning as he considers all the possibilities before him. He could possess her unequivocally for eternity, if he simply accepted the Labyrinths offering. Though it would welcome war on his kingdom with such a flagrant show of weakness by crowning a human. And if any ever discovered that he'd bonded her as well, he'd face a rebellion from within his walls.

Yet, Thomas saw it so simply. He was a King. A King with a vice that he could simply indulge in if he chose to.

The thought turns sour in his mind, because Thomas was keen, if not a slice from the same callous cloth that Jareth was formed from. If he believed Sarah incapable of forgiving him, he was likely right. A Queen with a vendetta against her King was a ruinous monarchy.

Jareth traces himself to a balcony that has no entrance, hidden from everyone but himself. It sits along the eastern wall of his castle, overlooking the massive Labyrinth he'd once ruled with pride. It has become the bane of his crown, and the thorn in his sanity. He props himself up on the thick stone balcony wall, eyeing his treasured source of power with derision. For something incapable of being sentient, it certainly had a way of getting its kicks against its king.

Rain pelts the massive grey walls and the shimmer of magic within is noticeably dimmed since the last time he's visited this view. He may not rule it as he had before the champion came into play but the bond remains, lingering as he refuses to accept the offering of its Queen, and as Sarah repeatedly refuses to cast away her crown. He can feel it's disapproval in the air, can sense it grows ill as its offering to its king remains unaccepted. As one unravels, so too does the other. So was the way of the King and his Labyrinth, bonded so intricately to the core.

"You could have chosen anyone, yet you chose a child of no significance. I may be a cruel King, but it is you who have no heart, old friend." Jareth's eyes fog, his mind going distant as he spins a crystal on the tips of his fingers, seeing short glimpses of dark hair and vengeful eyes. "Yet now she is neither of those things, and I'm not sure who is more damned by the fact."

Vacant eyes drop from the glass sphere as he brushes his fingers against the vines growing along the stone hedge, white flowers wilting under the rain. The delicate petals shrivel and die upon his touch, his magic seeping black from his core.

"What a pity for us both," he chuckles.

* * *

Finding the pretense to mask her situation with amusement wains in the aftermath of the dinner party. Her circumstances have created quite an abysmal state for her mind, at best. _Trapped, trapped, trapped…_ Always fucking trapped.

There is a bite of pain that singes her throat when she wakes, alone in her tiny room, a throbbing ache that wraps its way like a noose around her fair neck. It's a kiss of death, one that was never sealed properly, because here she lies still breathing on a lumpy cot. Pity…

 _All this pain over a little fire play. Dramatic King,_ a tiny voice in her head whispers.

What has she come to expect from the lunatic who haunts every crevice of her mind? That answer still evades her. His temper, cruelty, wit and deviant nature… that was simply what it was. That was Jareth, the Goblin King. That name alone so heavily saturated in power and control over every frame of her existence, and she envies the taste of such strength. Let him beat and break her, as she continues to siphon his attention and his temper like poison into her veins. In that slow, disillusioned spiral of destruction she blossoms like a night flower in the pale moonlight.

Her mind grows heavy as she finds the air to chuckle over her desolation. If there had been a single sliver of her former self left beating within her, that piece now rested in the warped depths of Jareth's heart now. Stolen, just like her youth, just like her happiness, just like her innocence. One last and final strike to eliminate the girl they'd both once known. With that loss she climbs higher amidst the treachery of his world, smiling as the playing field slowly levels between them, a match made by fate - wicked king versus jaded queen. What fun games they play, devouring one another till the very castle crumbles.

Foolish king, to sharpen his claws on her, when she had only just begun to unsheathe her own.

* * *

"Is that what humans call dancing?" his tone insinuates the insult.

The room fills with the heady annoyance that comes with the shadow of Thomas's tall frame standing over her. Sarah spins rhythmically before him, unsure how long she's been twirling to the music from somewhere deep in the castle. Another party taking place as the King continues to ignore her. How long has it been? She isn't sure. Nor does she know how many hours… days… it had been since the pain in her bones had set root. Just as the day after she'd taken Jareth's blood into her, now too did her body grow ill, aching with every movement even as she continues to sway.

"I'm also classically trained, if that appeases any of your abhorrence of me, Thomas," Sarah says wistfully, but her words crack and she barely hides the wince from the pain in her throat as she curtseys low to her invisible partner before placing her hands in the air where they would approximately rest, beginning her waltz around the space.

Soft voice humming along to the tune she doesn't know, spinning about the room barefoot in a robe that had been left for her. They hadn't even graced her with a change of clothing, but she didn't particularly care.

It should surprise him that she has a grace unsuspected of her, that perhaps the peach dream in which he'd first gazed upon her hadn't been all due to the King's talents. It should be comical, watching her dance with a ghost, eyes dim as she loses herself in remembering the steps. Yet as always this imprudent creature evolves into something more captivating and his scorn decides to refrain itself for the moment. When she stumbles, grey lines darkening on her sickly pale skin, his ire returns.

"You stupid girl," he chides, words slicing through the small space. Sarah steadies herself slowly, tilting her head up at him to flash a dull smirk. "I explicitly warned you not to get yourself killed."

Sarah falls back onto her heels, abruptly turning to face him, knotted hair in disarray around a still dirty face. Thomas is closer than she realized, standing just a few feet behind her in the white of the moonlight shining through her bare window. He is dressed as pristine as always, the one-note black attire as dark as his perpetual mood. Arms crossed stiffly, he is watching her with unmasked tension and anger. Had she thought they were making progress in their companionship? Silly Sarah.

"I'm hardly in a state to entertain, Thomas. Too busy plotting your King's demise at the moment," she coos lightly.

He ignores her words, as though her anger has no place here, and takes a step toward her. A hand extends, revealing a small purple vial that he gently sets atop the lone dresser in the room, keeping the distance of a few feet between them.

"I must advise that you drink this," yet his tone is a command. She laughs in reply.

"Tell Jareth he can keep his poisons. I can find more creative ways to kill me if he's run out of ideas."

"You poor, self-destructive thing," Thomas chides, as though it is _his_ patience being tested beyond reason. "Beyond the physical pain of your most recent outburst, surely you've begun to feel the effects of rejecting your bond, have you not? It's a healing elixir."

Sarah's lips part to deny it, but he cuts a hand through the air to wave off her rebuttal with clear aggravation. He picks the vial up once more, stepping just close enough to hand it directly to her this time.

Jade eyes pierce his with open distrust, a rhetoric on her tongue, but a shallow breath catches in her throat with a soft noise of surprise. Thomas had only just entered fully into the moonlight glow from the window behind her, and upon doing so revealed four long, deep slices along his right cheek. They stood out starkly, a glisten of red that could have been painted black in the shadows against his ghostly skin. A clean set of cuts made by a very sharp blade. Or very sharp claws…

"And here I thought I was receiving special treatment," she mocks casually, but there is a tinge of vehemence behind her lashes that Thomas is certain she doesn't realize she is showing, nor can he fathom why his wounds would matter to such a selfish creature.

"Special? I would say so, given that you're still breathing."

He raises the vile once more, and this time Sarah reaches out for it, but her hand brushes past his gift and instead reaches to graze over the wounds gently, a ghost of a touch that does not meet cold skin. The usual discomfort is subtle behind her pain and her anger, somehow the humor in that is nowhere to be found. Mute blue eyes watch her silently as she lets frail fingers graze gently against broken skin. It burns, but not terribly. She doesn't _quite_ hate the contact as she had before.

"I've wondered, why your own nails are blunt like a humans, when Jareth's are not. Does he abhor any similarities with mortals, or is Jareth just gifted to be so deadly a creature?" Sarah murmurs darkly.

Thomas snatches the wrist of her hovering hand, tightly but not painfully, and somehow managing to keep their skin separated by the thin sleeve of her robe.

"Gifted? One might think you fancy such features. Or perhaps it's simply the owner of them, who wishes you nothing but pain. Yet your skin prickles and flushes red when the space evaporates between you and any other. As it does now," Thomas is eyeing her with a clinical gaze, assessing her reaction with no more interest than had she been an insect trapped in his palm. He leans in just an inch, dull blue eyes focused solely on her sharpening jade ones. His eyes never linger. They never dip. She doesn't find this amusing anymore. "For the record, because I abhor ignorance, I keep mine clipped."

He releases her abruptly, uncaring that he's left her unbalanced as he steps away. He moves just a few inches, and already she feels more at ease.

Sarah shrugs off how troubled it makes her that his observations are so precise, that he knows _exactly_ how close he can be, and how fleeting his touches remain. She wouldn't be surprised if he knew the exact number of inches, the exact timing of seconds. She cannot decide between irritation or amusement, the impasse between the two transfixed in her gaze and knitted brow. Thomas appears unbothered by her, but he subtly tugs at the cuffs of his perfectly pressed shirt, drawing her gaze to his dull fingernails. Perfectly trimmed. The exact same length on each finger.

"Isn't that a shame," she hums lowly, taunting smile a charade to mask the confusing and colliding thoughts in her head.

Thomas blinks, silent in response to her jab.

"Come along. You smell like ash," he finally states, casually derisive.

* * *

The bathroom in Thomas's room is white and clean. Almost too clean. Each item within is perfectly placed, not a single thing out of order. He's left her to fend for herself, but she wonders if it burdens him to leave such a chaotic girl alone in such a pristine space. Even his soap is subtle and sharp, the scent of fresh evergreens washing away the remnants of her fire and the smell of ash. He's left her a towel and a black blouse to cover herself with, and it drowns her small frame. It's no better than her robe but at least it doesn't smell.

When she exits, fully bathed and dressed, she expects to find him tapping his foot impatiently, ready to escort her back to her hovel, or the King. She itches for the latter, her desire to lash out at Jareth only growing as her achy bones begin to settle. His elixir had done wonders, and she'd begun to feel better almost immediately. Yet when she rejoins him in his bedroom he is silently at his desk, scratching away at a piece of paper with a feather pen. Thomas doesn't even acknowledge her when she reappears, so she ignores him in return and inspects the bare pieces of his room. It is far less rich in color than Jareth's but just as sterile feeling.

Bored within moments, Sarah falls onto his bed, unsurprised that his linens are starch and crisp, smelling of clean, fresh air. It amuses her that his systematic stiffness extends to even the more mundane pieces of his life, like the comforts of a bed. Peculiar, tense Fae.

"You cannot rest here."

Clipped, as always. The scratching of his pen never slows, so she isn't sure if he's bothered to glance up at her or simply senses her wavering energy from the edge of his bed.

"Afraid I'll sully you and your very clean sheets?" She coos back, eyes still closed because they've become surprisingly heavy. Had his medicine drugged her? Her body tries to tense but the muscles continue to grow lethargic.

"Presumptuous little thing, aren't you? Are you unaware that your charms may be an acquired taste?" His words bite, but when she cracks open an eye she sees the faintest crack in his lips, not quite a grin, but something close. "You cannot rest here, because the longer you stay the more your scent will mingle with my own."

Sarah stretches as she replies, albeit a bit sluggishly. "And the King would be displeased?" She laughs sleepily. "I'm growing fonder of this idea."

The scratching quill finally ceases.

"I have no intention of dying for you," Thomas says after a moment, and it's an almost sigh in his tone. Is he really so easily perplexed by her?

"Of course not," she chuckles, amused by such a statement. "I'm quite sure I'll die alone."

Sarah's eyes peek open when no response comes, and she finds the fae staring down at her from above the edge of the bed.

"You speak of such so carelessly."

"I have no fear of dying, Thomas. I just hope I take them both with me," she sighs whistfully, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers as she studies the ends with disinterest.

"Yet could one such as you ever truly be capable of such a task?" he asks, and without even trying he tears at her with the honest ridicule in his speculation of her. "I've had to wonder since your arrival. What outcomes of this game will there be? Which play on the board do I choose to follow for my own benefit?"

Sarah rolls over to her stomach and props a hand under her chin, a bitter smile spreading.

"I may be insignificant to everyone here, Thomas. But haven't you underestimated me before?"

He studies her with another of his cold expressions. Calculating, but what she isn't sure.

"Precisely my thoughts." He turns from her and returns to his desk, the scratching of his quill beginning once more.

Sarah returns to her back and closes her eyes, uncertain what to make of the King's second-hand this night, but certainly amused by his own perplection over the matter.

"I will not die for you, but I won't let you die of your own accord either," he states casually from his seat. "The King will crumble to your will sooner or later. It's high time I place my bets on the Queen in this game of chess."

"A Queen? I believe you once referred to me a _rabid human_."

"From the ashes do we rise, Defeater. The flames may burn you, but within pain do we discover what our true selves are capable of."

She laughs at his words, and for once the cynicism of her broken mind is absent from it.

* * *

 **and that's all for now. Sorry for a shorter chapter. I hope to update again soonish. Do let me know what you think, and what your guesses are for what Thomas is up to.**


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